The Killer and His Contract
by Jasper Blood
Summary: It isn't easy to believe that Yassen had once had a normal life, a future, dreams and goals, even a lover. But when he is introduced to the daughter of his former love, everything spirals out of control and all lives are at risk. Read and Review!
1. Money Doesn't Mix With Pleasure

**Not sure if I'll continue this but if you like it, review me! Please! Please! Please!**

Siberia

Nadia Volkova gazed out at the hard, white expanse that was Siberia in the winter. Icy flakes clung to her eyelashes with tiny fingers that quickly melted away. The wind dug into her flesh like minature daggers. Russia was no sauna during the winter months, that was without a doubt. She trekked through the snow with surprising ease, her dancer's body moving fluidly. Absently, she pushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. A man came up behind her, dressed in blackclad winter gear. He too had the slim, graceful form of a dancer. He brandished gun, but he did not shoot.

He simply waited for her to turn around, to confront him. But even then, the weapon would not be fired. No, the killer's bullets were to be saved for another victim. The girl at last met his eyes. They were dark and cold and lifeless. Filled with the deep sorrow of many losses. But those losses were highly confidential, known only to the killer. But the girl too had her own losses. And they were bound up, gagged, caged, and locked away deep within her, the key thrown away.

Never again to be freed from their dark prison. But who was this girl? Who was the killer who stood before her? Were their names worth anything at all? Or were they but dust to the common man? And the killer, did he have an identity other than simply, 'Killer'? Perhaps so. Perhaps not.

Did the girl and the killer share any connection, and fragment of information that somehow had brought them together? Or was it simply a chance meeting, never to happen again? So many questions, so few answers. But there is one answer that may enlighten you. The girl and the man did share something. Something deep and dark and murderous. Not just dangerous. Not just viscous.

Not just heinous. Murderous is the only adjective capable of describing the evil within this small, seemingly useless connection. But what it is, I am afraid I do not know. You, my friend, are on your own now. You must find the answers that you seek. You must follow the killers. Yes, I said _killers_.

Moscow, Russia- Six weeks earlier

The lanky adolescent that was Nadia Irina Volkova stood before the great windows, the tall skyscrapers looming overhead, their shadows great and monsterous in the gray morning light. Her own shadow loomed on the polished marble floors, delicate and elegant. Her mother, Anastasia, was out and her grandfather in his office, busily conversing with what she could identify only as the infamous Russian Mafia. Her grandfather dealt with them often. Aleksandr Volkov was a communist, a rather infamous one himself, to put it blatently. Although the government had fallen long before her birth, Alek was set in his beliefs and quite often engaged in organized crime and discussions with such groups as the mafia to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for Russian supremecy.

When he was not in his office, discussing matters of which she was not permitted to hear, he was raving about the Russian government back during the Cold War and how they had failed to attack the United States with their nuclear power. But she refused to be bothered by it. After all, her lessons were the most important, at least in Alek's eyes. The only reason he had taken in his daughter and grandaughter in was so that his grandchild could be turned into the model politician, one he approved of. Now, Nadia had all the freedoms a child could have, save for one seemingly unimportant thing. She was not permitted under any circumstance to use the name of her father. His surname was... Gregorivich.

It was the child's only information about her biological father, a man whom her mother refused to identify by first name. In fact, she didn't talk about him at all, no matter how the child prodded. It was quite maddening for Nadia. But more so for her mother, the one whom had been impregnated and very nearly disowned by her father. The man who had done this to her was forever in her memory. Fondly in some ways, and not at all in others. But Nadia would never know. So she suspected.

A Glimpse of the Killer and his pleasurable Evening

The tall, dark, lanky figure removed any last remnants from his expertly crafted disguise. From a grimy Brooklyn service man, he was transformed back into the image that very few people saw, save for himself. It was the image of a slim and graceful man of about thirty-five with dark hair that was neatly combed and a clean shaven face. In fact, everything about him was graceful and handsome, an image that one would never imagine to be the image of a contract killer on the run. He opened a pack of Marrelboro cigarettes, his long fingers taking one delicately and lighting it. Despite the sometimes deadly affects of cigarettes, this man made it look utterly elegant.

He blew a cloud of blue smoke, watching it disappear into some unknown dungeon in the air. Cigarettes. He remembered him smoking the same brand on the same day as this. It was Friday afternoon. He was in Moscow now, but then, he had been in Paris. He had been in a glamorous hotel under a fake identity, a glamorous woman with him. But she was under her own name. Aleksandrovna.

She had been wearing a simple black dress, her hair loose and velvety, draped over her shoulders. The simplicity of it all; everything about her simple, yet like a gem that glitters in the moonlight. She was indeed beautiful. They had had a small lunch and talked for a while and then of course, there was the bedroom. The memory was like a blur to him, it had all happened so fast, but it had been exhilerating. Before the true star of the show had occurred, there had been more wine and conversation. They sat side by side, he smoking a cigarette, she slowly sipping a glass of Pinot Noir.

She had been uneasy, tense. He remembered stroking her hair, kissing her playfully. It had been the first time in years that he had allowed himself a little pleasure. But she did not welcome it right away. She was afraid, nervous, fearful of discovery. He remembered saying, "_My love, you mustn't worry so._" She had said, "_But I must worry so, Yassen._" Silence followed. And then, he had taken a dangerous leap. One that would leave a mark on the woman, but nothing on him. For alas, he would be and still is unbeknownst to it. But I will allow two answers this time. We know the woman as Anastasia. And she was to bear a child.

Aleksandr Volkov's Office

"Ah, Yassen, a pleasure to see you again." Yassen nodded slowly, keeping his eyes focused on the Persian rug, attempting to conceal his undoubtedly visible nervousness. Alek smiled broadly, althought it was not a welcoming smile. It contained more malice than cheer. "Have a seat, my friend." He added, gesturing to one of the numerous chairs in his office. Uneasily, Yassen sat down in a leather chair, patiently waiting for the man to continue. Alek took a seat behind his desk, his eyes glittering.

"I have an errand for you, Yassen."

"An errand, sir?"

"Yes. An errand that I am sure only you are capable of handling."

"And may I ask what that errand is, sir?" he inquired, growing wary of the old man's guessing games.

"You may, of course." He answered, lighting a cigar. He held one out to Yassen. Yassen shook his head but the cigar remained in front of him. Although he felt it somewhat impolite to smoke in front of a possible client, he accepted it out of gratitude for the many sums of money this man had paid him. Alek ignited his lighter and lit his cigar. "Now, I am sure you are wondering about the details of this errand." He said. Yassen nodded, blowing a cloud of thick, gray smoke.

"As expected. Here is the information you seek." Alek handed him a sheet of paper. Yassen took it gently and unfolded the yellowed stationary.

_Moscow, Tuesday evening, January 20 at the Ilinov Plaza Hotel. You shall be meeting with an anti-communist radicle, Ilyich Corsicov and his wife Irina. You shall dine with them and of course, get as much information out of them as possible. I fear that they know of my plans to kill one of Russia's government officials and I need them disposed of._

Yassen looked up from the paper.

"I trust you will get the job done without any publicity." Alek said, smoke flooding from his lips. Yassen glanced back at the paper.

"How much?"

Alek smiled. "How does a quarter million sound to you?" Yassen reread the information, examining it thoroughly.

"Would it be pressing my luck to ask for more?" He answered. A quarter million wasn't a fair deal if you were to be killing one of Russia's most famous anti-communists. Alek chuckled. "Ah yes, I figured you would ask for more. But I did anticipate it. Very well, half a million."

"Added on to the quarter?"

"Of course." Yassen again examined the paper. At last, he looked up.

"When shall I get the money?" Alek grinned. "I knew I could count on you."

"That is unfortunate, sir. I try hard not to be an ally of anyone, but you have paid me quite a fortune."

"Very true." It was at this moment, that Nadia, who had been standing before the window, decided to inquire just what it was her grandfather was discussing. But she would be discreet, of course. She rapped on the door lightly.

"Come in, Nadia. I've been expecting you." She sighed. He always knew where she was. She opened the door slowly, unsurprised by his guest.

"Nadia darling, do come. I'd like to introduce you to a close friend of mine." Uneasily, she crept in. Alek smiled. "Nadia, this is Yassen Gregorivich, a buisness partner of mine." Yassen cringed slightly as his name was revealed to to the child. Although she was a child, it was often children who posed as the biggest threats. Slowly, he held out his hand. Nervously, she took it.

"A pleasure to meet you, ." she said quietly, almost mumbling it to herself. But she was determined not to let her obvious surprise by the name be revealed. Yassen nodded.

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Volkova." He replied, trying to conceal his own surprise. Anastasia had a child? Was she even married? Nadia briefly glanced at her grandfather.

"I was just looking for some paper, Grandpapa. I will leave now." She said, taking a few sheets from his desk. Alek nodded, smiling as she left hurriedly.

"Ahem, your grandaughter is charming, Alek." Yassen said quietly, clearing his throat. Alek nodded. "Indeed."

"I did not know Anastasia was married."

"Ah, but she is not." He sighed. "Divorced, I'm afraid."

"A shame, sir."

"Yes, it is. But never mind that, Yassen. Your concern is of the task at hand." He replied, gesturing to the paper in the man's hand. Yassen nodded, smoke flooding from his own lips.

The killer bid good day to his current employer and left the Volkov residence, preparing for his task. But not without remorse. He could feel it. It was a deep sadness welling within him. But that is for another chapter.


	2. A Successful Assignment

**Here it is guys, the 2****nd**** chapter. Enjoy and Review!**

Moscow

He straightened his bowtie, listening to the evening traffic. The scent of cologne and cigarette smoke mingled around him. For a moment, he stood before his mirror in a daze, his eyes gazing through the reflective glass at some unknown target. It was not until the metallic ring of the telephone that he even blinked. He glanced down at the caller id. Volkov. Alek was calling him.

"Sir,"

"Ah Yassen, I trust that everything is prepared?"

"Everything is primed and ready, sir. The evening will go smoothly, I promise you."

"Only to end roughly. For them of course."

Silence.

"Ah yes, I forgot, you do not make jokes about your work. My apologies."

"When shall I get the money?"

"Ah, the money. Not to worry, my fine friend. I shall arrange for Nadia to be there when you arrive with the money."

"Your…granddaughter, sir?"

"Of course. She will cause you know trouble, Yassen. She will make an inquiries. The child is obedient to me. And to my friends. There will be no mischeif."

"Uh…yes, well, that's all well and good, sir, but I feel it necessary to warn you. Corsicov may have spies. And if he does they'll be scouting every inch of the plaza. After all, a radical as famous as himself undoubtedly has a phenomenal security system. Allowing your granddaughter to be seen with me…the dangers of that could be great."

"I did not know you cared for the safety of my grandchild, Yassen."

"Well…I may not know her personally, sir, but she is a child. Children often pose as the greatest threats…"

"You leave Nadia's safety to me, Yassen. You do what you are paid to do." Alek interjected sharply, and the phone call was promptly disconnected.

Ilinov Plaza- 2100 Hours

Yassen stepped out of the limo gracefully, his nine millimeter revolver and key weapon completely hidden by his dinner jacket. Concealed in his bowtie was a minature bomb, as a last resource if everything went horribly wrong. He scanned the crowded entrance, looking for a couple of things. First and most important: Nadia Volkova. 2nd most important: Any possible threats to his cover. But of course, those were almost always inevitable. And in those cases, you just have to play it cool. After a few moments, he spotted her.

Dressed in a black silk dress with a beaded bodice and a luxurious tiger fur coat, she looked significantly older than her…thirteen…fourteen years, perhaps? Slowly, he began approaching her, going over the process in his mind. What would he say to her? How would he ask her for the money? Who would he adress her as? And would his act be believable to any bystanders? The closer he got, the more frantic his thoughts became. At last, he settled on the one remaining idea. He would have to act as her father.

"Nadia, darling," he said as he came closer, taking her into his arms.

Nadia choked back tears as she took in the powerful scent of smoke and cologne, along with that, resisting the urge to pull away. She felt completely alienated by his close presence, but held still. For Grandpapa, she thought over and over again. Alek had told her before hand that the man would performing some act. But why? Was he illegal or something? She dared not think of the possibilities.

"You did bring the package, did you not?" he said, releasing her. She nodded weakly. He smiled, revealing surprisingly white teeth for a probable smoker. He took it from her gently.

"Your mother will love it, I am sure." He said. What was he thinking of now, an anniversary outing or something? She nodded and smiled back, although it was far less convincing. Then, he did something even more shocking. He bent down and kissed her head.

"Thank you, my lovely." He whispered and hurried off, leaving the girl to stand there in shock. Instinctively, her hand went to her head, feeling the spot where he had kissed her, checking for any possible injury from it. Then, noticing that it was time to be off, she moved on. But she would not go far.

Later that evening, Ilinov Plaza

Everything was going according to plan. He had dined with the Corsicovs, engaging in conversation about the government, playing the part of an earnest reporter, eager to help the radical with his campaign. Of course, Mr. Corsicov was unbeknownst to his plan. It was all in the vodka. But that will come soon enough. As they talked, Yassen quietly removed the pre-paid cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. A few moments later, Mr. Corsicov's own phone went off.

"Ah, do excuse me sir, I must take this." He said, perturbed at the caller. Yassen smiled. "Of course, sir. Do what you must." The radical got up from his seat and walked to the waiting area where he could converse in private. Of course, there was no one to converse with. Everything was perfect. Mrs. Corsicova had gone off to the powder room and her husband was preoccupied with a supposed phone call. He could begin. Quickly, he removed a cask from his breast pocket, popped it open, and took four white pills from it. One quick glance to make sure nobody was watching, and he dropped them in, two pills in each glass.

They plopped into the goblets of vodka, white plumes sent up as they dissolved. To quicken the process, he grabbed a toothpick from the appetizer dish and swished it around once in each glass. Once the pills were fully dissolved, there was no trace of them in the clear liquid. He concealed the cask in his pocket, sat back, and waited.

Mr. and Mrs. Corsicov died within the hour. Their drinks had been drugged with a fatal dose of heroin. They died directly after the young reporter escorted them from the restaurant, giving them five last minutes of their life before they promptly collapsed. As this happened, the reporter doused their bodies with oil which he produced from separate cask and ignited them with his cigarette lighter. The killer had completed his task. But even those as observant as Yassen Gregorivich did not know that a young girl stood a few yards away from him. Her name was Nadia.

Moscow- late evening

Yassen stood just outside, waiting for Volkov's men, smoking a cigarette. Marlboro. It wasn't often that he allowed himself to be seen in public for longer than an hour, but he didn't need to worry. If the police did happen to suspect him of being the culprit, he was backed by a long-time governement official with a very powerful influence on the court.

Nadia stood a few yards away, watching him closely. First he had taken the box from her. Then he had most likely dined at the plaza. Then, as he exited with two people, his hosts most likely, they promptly collapsed. And he just stood there. He didn't notify a soul. And then he had simply set their bodies aflame. Something was wrong with this Gregorivich man.

It was obvious. And she would find out. Surely her grandfather did not approve of this man's activity. He seemed engrossed in the cigarette he was smoking, most likely not paying any attention. So she approached him, silently begging God that her six years worth of karate lessons would finally pay off. It happened quickly. She came up behind him, her long arms curling over him, one grabbing his throat and slamming him in the jugular, the other clamped over his lips. Yes, she thought. She had him. But Nadia was unfortunate. She underestimated her captive greatly.

Yassen grabbed the hands with a death grip, tearing them off like they were nothing but duct tape. He turned in one fluid motion, facing his attacker. Only to meet eyes with Nadia Volkova, his employer's granddaughter. He smiled.

"Good evening, Miss Volkova."

"Let go of me!" she screeched. Promptly, his clamped a hand over her mouth, the other wrenching her arms into a contortion that could have broken bones.

"Your grandfather told me that you would not cause me any trouble." He continued, kicking her hard in the stomach every time she made any noise. "Apparently, he was wrong." He bent in close, the smell of cigarette smoke unbearable. He then did something surprising. He released her. Nadia smiled back at him, her eyes gleaming.

"Indeed," she hissed, bringing her leg up to kick him. But he grabbed her ankle and flung her to the ground effortlessly. But the man was not done. He picked her up by the neck and punched her hard. Blood trickled down from the corner of her mouth.

"I do not typically injure girls…" he threw another punch, "but you can be an acception, I suppose." More blood. Yassen smiled and it was the last thing she saw. The final punch knocked her unconscious.


	3. What have I done?

**The Third Edition. Hope you like it, guys. Please Review!**

Moscow, Russia- Ilinov Plaza

He knelt over her, staring at the blood that trickled down her chin in horror. What had he done? How could he have done it? Why had he done it? He held the unconscious girl's head in his hands, for once not knowing what to do. He just knew he had to get her to safety, someplace where she could rest and heal. Delicately, he took her into his arms and carried her to the waiting limousine, fearful that Alek would pop up at the most inopportune time. He would want to know what had happened. And he did not want to tell him.

Residence of Yassen Gregorivich

Nadia's eyes flickered open, the images around her, but a blur. She sat up, her head throbbing, her stomach churning. But she was pushed back down gently, her head sinking into something soft. A pillow, perhaps? Then, she heard a voice.

"_Nadia_," The voice was soft and lilting. Vaguely familiar. She opened her eyes wide, letting her eyes adjust to the brightness of things. As her sight cleared, an image stood over her. It was Yassen Gregorivich. Instinctively, she sat bolt upright, fists ready. But she was not met with the viscous killer she had seen before. When had she seen him? Was it last night? Last week? Last month? Last year? Her vision was clear but her mind was cloudy. He grasped her should gently and laid her back down. She stared up at him, her eyes bright with fury.

"What do you want?" she spat. Yassen looked at her innocently, an expression of guilt written onto his face.

"To apologize." He said quietly, his voice plaintive. Nadia forced a weak chuckle, hoping that it sounded malicious.

"Why would you apologize? You seemed to enjoy it." Yassen looked away, afraid to show his shame. When he looked at her, he saw Anastasia. And that was the answer to his question. Why had he beaten her? Let us go back deep into his past and find out.

Moscow- 1995

There was shouting. There was cursing. There were tears. There was sorrow. Love that had once thrived had withered away and died. And a secret that should have been told was kept close, where no one but she could find it. Anastasia Aleksandrovna had stormed from his apartment, taking the secret of her pregnancy with her, leaving him to mourn in fury and anguish. He would never know he had a child and that was the way she had wanted it. Why she had left him was never revealed to anyone, not even him. Only herself.

Present Day

When he looked at that child, he saw her. And he was immediately overcome by a savage fury, one that could not be tamed. That was why he had done to her what he had done to her. And he was ashamed. He looked down at Nadia, his eyes filled with a deep remorse. She stared back at him defiantly. Yassen sighed, sitting down beside her.

"I am sorry for what I did to you, Miss Volkova. I do not know what came over me. And I know that it is quite selfish of me to ask for your forgiveness, but I do beg that you do." He said. Nadia looked at him for a moment, then answered.

"Tell me what you are."

"A friend of your grandfather's."

"No, what you really are." Yassen sighed.

"That is none of your business, Miss Volkova."

"But it is of my business, Mr. Gregorivich. I believe that I've seen enough already to make it my business." She answered curtly. Yassen sighed.

"You are too smart."

She smiled. "I am."

"But that does not mean that I have to tell you anything. After all, you are just a little girl." Nadia stopped smiling abruptly.

"I am not little. I am thirteen years old, Mr. Gregorivich. Far from little."

"Thirteen years is little from my perspective, Miss Volkova. I do hope you will not take offense." He said. Nadia scowled. He chuckled, lighting a cigarette. He glanced at her.

"Your grandfather is rather fond of tobacco himself, therefore I assume you won't mind." He added, blowing blue tinted smoke. Nadia did not answer, she simply stared down at the immaculately kept wood floors. Actually, everything was immaculately kept. The apartment was spotless.

"You like to keep things tidy, I see."

"With my career, I never know when I may have to relocate." He answered, smoke curling off of his cigarette. This statement was true. Nadia looked at him.

"Mr. Gregorivich,"

He looked at her.

"I love my grandfather. But when he deals with such people as the Russian Mafia, I know that he has done unsavory deeds. All I want to know is what he has done." She looked at him pleadingly. "Please." Yassen looked closely at her, his eyes riveting into her, as if analyzing every detail. He sighed.

"Alright Miss Volkova. What do you want to know?" Nadia smiled.

"Everything."

And everything was told, save for his own details. But the girl would find those out on her own.


	4. Out for a Drive

**Alright guys, the fourth edition. Pulled this together kind of quickly so don't know if it's satisfactory. Tell me if you like it! No flames, please.**

Moscow- Taxi Cab

Nadia sat beside him, her mind ablaze with wonder and question. Who was this man? Was his name Gregorivich at all? What was he? A politician? A criminal? He had ignited to corpses on the Plaza Ilinov's side lawn as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Was he mad?

He deserves to be thrown into a sanitarium, she thought angrily. But her anger was more directed onto Alek Volkov, the grandfather she had always been supsicious of, but never would have believed the information she had now before.

"Mr. Gregorivich,"

"Yes, Miss Volkova?"

"Tell me again."

What had been told approximately half an hour before

Aleksandr Volkov was pro-communist, strongly agreeing with the Russian leader, Lenin. Throughout the duration of the Cold War, he had aided the Red Army, pressing that they launch their great power onto the foolish Americans. The Nuclear bomb. The damage that could be done to the Western world would be devastating and it would bring Red Russia to power. But eventually, and to Alek's great dismay, Communism was brought down and his dreams crushed. But he was determined and would not let the ideas of Vladimir Lenin and Karl Marx die.

And so, he went off to seek the aid of gangs such as the Russian Mafia and ex. Politicians from the Communism era to help him rise up and defeat the modern day government of Russia and bring the terror of Communist Russia down onto the Western world. In other words, the United States of America.

Back to current time

The event at the Plaza Ilinov was explained casually, but Yassen had believably avoided the details about himself and said that it was by chance meeting that he had been there and that she had seen him standing over the flaming corpses in horror, to shocked to do anything of use. But of course, Nadia was too smart to believe that, and Yassen knew it. But he decided to wait until she had figured out enough before he revealed his own details. But he knew that was impossible, for Yassen was impossible to figure out. They arrived at the Volkova residence, the immaculately kept residence painted yellow by the morning sun. Alek stood in the window, watching, his eyes black and emotionless.

Yassen led Nadia to the door and waited until the old man welcomed her in. Although his words were more icy than welcoming. Hurriedly, Yassen stepped in, attempting to save the girl from the old communist's wrath.

"Come into office, Yassen." He growled. "Where we can talk in private." He barked at Nadia to go to her room, the young girl hurrying away without a word.

Once in the office, Alek sat down at his desk and immediately lit a cigar, this time not offering one to his guest. Yassen sat with his head bent, keeping silent as Alek eyed him with eyes like daggers.

"I trust my granddaughter caused you no trouble, Yassen?"

"She was fine, sir."

"And how were her injuries caused, exactly? You were not clear enough last evening. You had my daughter quite worried." Yassen flinched.

"She has told me that she was walking to your car when a group of boys, college age perhaps, grabbed her and beat her quite brutally, sir. I took her to my apartment so that she could rest and I could treat her wounds. I apologize for upsetting you." His voice that was always steady and sure was now shaky with nervousness. He wrung his hands, a look of obvious concern written into his face. Alek blew a cloud of smoke.

"You are not telling the truth, but I will not press you further. I have a new assignment for you, Yassen. Your salary will be a quarter million if you suceed. And speaking of salary, here is your salary for last night." He handed an envelope to him. Yassen did not open it. He knew it was real. Alek never cheated him.

"Where is this assignment, sir."

"Cuba."

"Cuba?"

"Yes. You are to be meeting a contact of a man by the name of General Alexei Sarov. You will take out the contact after obtaining as much information on Sarov as you can. My granddaughter will accompany you." At this last line, Yassend dropped the envelope.

"Surprised, Yassen?"

"Quite sir." He managed.

"Ah yes, I figured that. But Nadia has grown on you, I believe. I have purchased two plane tickets…"

"But sir!"

"Yassen," he said sternly, "Do it."


	5. Vacation and Assasination

**Fanfic readers, I present to you the fifth edition of my twisted ballad. This is where things start to get interesting. I've noticed that some of my viewers (not giving any names) were rather shocked by the abrupt ending of my second chapter and the behavior that I used in portraying Yassen Gregorivich. Some of this will undoubtedly appear in this chapter but I promise you, I am using evidence from the series. Also, I have just recently discovered upon reading the second chapter of "Eagle Strike" that Yassen hated the scent of cigar smoke and was most likely not a smoker. I'll keep it in my fics though because in my opinion, the really sophisticated bad guys are smokers (not to be discriminative or anything.) Thank you for reading.**

**Cordially,**

**Jasper Blood**

Volkova residence- Twenty minutes before departure to Moscow International Airport

Nadia hurriedly packed several pairs of clothing into her suitcase, the majority of them dark colors such as black and gray. She did not believe in wearing too bright a color, as she thought that it took away from the personality of an individual.

"Grandpapa, where am I going?" she inquired nervously, afraid that her grandfather would question at the last evening's events.

"You are going on vacation my love." He answered nonchalantly. She looked up at him, her hands still folding and placing in methodic motions.

"Vacation? In the middle of winter? To where?"

"Cuba. An island several miles off, to be precise. Cayo Esquelito. Skeleton Key. You'll find the beaches lovely, I am sure."

"So I am going to Cuba, why exactly?"

"Why my dear, to soak up the sun of course! Enjoy yourself, relax and rejuvenate for the week. You've been working hard in school and you deserve a reprieve." Nadia continued packing, but had she been calm, she would have stopped abruptly. Alek Volkov did not believe in vacations. It was always work, work, work. Time is money, therefore it cannot be wasted.

"To soak up the sun? But why can't I do that during the summer, when I am off from school?" Alek's face turned to stone.

"Nadia, you know full well that summer is strictly dedicated to training you in the arts and sports. You won't have time then."

"But I am being trained now, in the academy. Grandpapa, you have never before encouraged that I take off from school simply to laze about on some island." Alek's expression showed no sign of annoyance or impatience.

"I have decided to change my ways for once, my love. Can a grandfather not treat his granddaughter to a vacation? Besides, I am sure you will find the experience quite fascinating and educating." He smiled, as if nothing in the world was amiss. Nadia tried to smile back, but only succeeded in making the corners of her lips twitch.

"Surely I am not to be going alone." She said at last. "Is Mother accompanying me?" Alek smile again.

"Your mother will be busy in Paris this weekend and wishes you well. I have another guardian in mind for you."

"Ah. Who exactly? Your driver? Plushenko?"

"No, no, not Plushenko. It will be Mr. Gregorivich, the man who so kindly treated your mysterious wounds and brought you home today." This time, Nadia did stop abruptly.

"W…what?"

"Gregorivich. He is a good friend of mine, as I told you a few days ago. He is a good man and I am sure you will find him an interesting individual." Nadia would have shot back with something snide and insulting, had it not been her grandfather she was addressing. Interesting was about the biggest understatement of the year.

"Gregorivich?" She could barely whisper his name.

"Yes, Yassen Gregorivich."

"But Grandpapa, I have only known him for a few days. That doesn't qualify him as an eligible guardian." Alek sat down on her bed and gestured that she sit beside him.

"Yassen is a friend of t he family, Nadia. He has known your mother since she was a child. I trust him. And if I trust him, you can do the same." Nadia stared at him, not sure whether to run away, lash out, burst into tears, or do a combination of the three. He noticed her look of uncertainty.

"Relax, my Nadia. He will take care of you. You will grow very close to him, I am sure. You will be fast friends." His voice was rough and gravelly, due to years of cigar smoking. She looked at him, puzzled by his response.

"Pray tell, Grandpapa, what is it that will draw me close to him?"

Alek chuckled, though it sounded more like a loud, raspy cough than a laugh.

"All in good time, my love."

Moscow International Airport Terminal- An hour and a half till take off

Yassen carried a small Samsonite suitcase and a briefcase, both black, blending in with his expensive black suit. His close cropped hair was neatly combed and perhaps recently cut. His blue eyes shined in the dim light of the terminal, like glass. The scent of cologne was all around him, a soft, sweet, yet sophisticated smell. He looked like a man of importance, perhaps embarking on a business trip, rather than a man going to an island getaway. Nadia approached him slowly. She had already bid farewell to her grandfather. Her mother was nowhere to be found.

Which was odd. Her mother would have protested the minute her grandfather had even suggested that she go to Cuba. Anastasia Aleksandrovna was extremely protective of her daughter and refused to let her out of her sight. Letting her depart without a goodbye was obviously, out of the question.

"Mr. Gregorivich,"

"Ah, Nadia," he answered, his words quiet, yet languid. "We meet again, I see." This last part was meant to be spoke with cheer, but there was a hostile flash of danger in his eyes. His words were sugar-coated, but beneath, they dripped with poison. Every syllable was intoxicating. And she knew he took care in pronouncing every word with a proper tone, making sure that it was as believable as possible. She scowled back at him, no longer fearing this…this stranger.

"I sincerely hope it shall be the last time we meet, Mr. Gregorivich." She answered clearly and loudly, making sure that her words were audible over the chatter of travelers. Yassen simply smiled, not at all offended. But she wouldn't have been surprised if at any moment, fangs had sprouted from the vile man's gums. And quite frankly, she wouldn't have cared. She always carried a letter opener in her suitcase, a sharp weapon that went unsuspected in airport security. An easy way to stake him. And to be truthful, she would have liked that. Very much.

She followed him, soon passing through the long and increasingly irritating security tests. Within a half an hour, they had finished the tests and boarded the plane, preparing for the long journey to Cuba. As she stared out at the fading Russian sun, she sighed and whispered, "I wonder how I could grow close to that wretched man."

**If you like this fourth edition, please review! Feel free to give me ideas for the upcoming chapter. I have yet to decide the extent of this duo's stay in Cuba. But of course, it will be undoubtedly laced with murder, malice, and secrets! Please check out my profile and polls! Thanks, as always.**


	6. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**The sixth edition of my…horridly twisted, murder laced, lie filled…ballad. Sorry, I'm a sucker for dramatic entrances. Anyway, this is where our lovely heroine, Nadia, pries at the killer for information, only to end up disappointed. It seems that Yassen always has an excuse for everything, and a believable one at that. But I promise, this will be a satisfying thrill for your dreary lives (that is, if you have dreary lives.) But feel free to tell me if this was the thrill of your day. And review, I love your reviews! Your reviews are the yin in my yang! (Don't ask about that one, my sanity's rapidly depleting.)**

**Cordially,**

**Jasper Blood**

Cayo Esquelito Hotel- Skeleton Key, mid noon

Nadia watched intently as Yassen unpacked his small Samsonite, examining every item that came out of it from her seat in the large leather chair that sat at the corner of the room. Her grandfather had reserved two adjoining suites so that if anything should happen, Yassen, Nadia's 'guardian' for the week, was only a short distance away and could hear any sign of danger. Signs like screaming or gunshot or shouting…well, you get the picture. Yassen paused for a moment, taking a drag on the cigarette. He chuckled, smoke flooding from his lips.

"Curious, Miss Volkova?" he inquired, resuming his work.

"I prefer to know a little about my 'guardian' before he 'guards' me." She answered flatly. Yassen couldn't help but smile.

"You know something about me."

"Knowing your name is not enough, Mr. Gregorivich." She answered, emphasizing her insulting tone. Yassen didn't seem to be bothered. He laid a starched dress shirt onto the bed and strolled over to the vacant seat near his nightstand.

"What is it you want to know then?" he inquired, tapping the rim of ash on his cigarette, so that the fine gray powder showered down onto the floor. Nadia crossed her legs, folded her hands, and pursed her lips. She wanted to show this man that she meant business and was in no mood to be treated like a child.

"What is your occupation?"

"Why do you care?"

"Why are you so intent on keeping it from me?" She smiled, noticing his hesitancy. "I mean, you must have some type of job. If you didn't, you wouldn't be wearing that suit."

"What do you want to know about my occupation?" he sighed. She sat back in her chair, feeling triumphant. Finally she was getting questions answered.

"What do you do? Why are you working for my grandfather? Why are you here, in Cuba?"

"That's an awful lot of questions, Miss Volkova. Why don't we start with one, hmm?"

"Alright, what do you do?" Yassen smiled to himself. Of course, he had had an entire story made up in order to satisfy the child. He'd had an inkling that she was one to pry.

"I work for the governement."

"As what?"

"I am the secretary to Ilyich Corsicov."

"Ilyich Corsicov and his wife were murdered a few days ago. I believe you dined with them."

"Yes, I dined with them, the night of their murder."

"Why were you dining with them?"

"It was a business dinner. Ilyich was explaining his next campaign act. He wanted me to arrange for him to give his speech at the Ilinov Plaza, the very place that we dined."

"Why did you ignite their bodies after they died?" Nadia inquired, unable to hide the sly tone in her voice. At this, Yassen was slightly surprised. She must have been keeping pretty good watch on him, after all.

"I remembered Ilyich telling me that if he were to die suddenly, with me at his side, that he would want him to ignite his body so that the governement could not conduct an autopsy on him. He opposed them strongly." As he said this, he made his voice crack slightly, as if he suddenly wanted to weep and mourn the loss of his superior. Nadia tried to convince herself that he was lying, that it was all an act, but she could not help but soften her tone slightly.

"What were you doing for my grandfather?"

"Your grandfather simply wanted me to keep watch over Ilyich and to give him updates on his progress. He greatly praised Ilyich." Saying this was a mistake. And Yassen knew it. And Nadia knew it. Alek Volkov hated Corsicov and wouldn't vote for him if his life depended on it. But Nadia wasn't ready to reveal that she knew that. If she could keep him going, he might slip.

"Why are you here, in Cuba?"

Yassen blew a cloud of smoke. "To keep watch over you, Miss Volkova."

"Do not call me 'Miss Volkova'. Call me Nadia."

"I will do so if you do the same for me."

"So I shall call you 'Yassen'?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "I can do that." Yassen cleared his throat.

"Uh…Nadia, I've noticed that you seem to greatly dislike me. Since we are to be spending a week together, could we, perhaps, make a truce of some sort?" he looked up at her, his eyes pleading. Nadia thought for a moment. Was this creep asking for peace? But then, she thought of something else, a saying. 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'. Perhaps if she made a temporary aliance with Yassen, she could get closer to him, find out more about him, catch him in some devious act. Yes. It was perfect.

"Alright, Yassen. It's a truce." She stood up and approached him. She held out her hand. Yassen took it. The two of them shook hands, secretly cackling at each other. They had both been victorious. Nadia would be able to find out more about him. And Yassen would be able to keep her from doing that and keep her out of danger at the same time. Confusing, I know. But in the end, these enemies would find that the only thing they had that was worthwhile…was each other. But that is for you to find out. I've said too much already.

A restaurant on the shore- 8 PM.

Nadia sat across from him, sipping on guava juice. Yassen sipped…well, sipped is an understatement. From Nadia's point of view, he had knocked back a shot of vodka with ease. In her opinion, vodka was nasty stuff. Her mother had said that it tasted like isopropyl alcohol. And from the smell of it, she could believe it. She glanced at the menu before her, skimming through the line of meals…all in Spanish. But that didn't matter. She was fluent in several languages due to her grandfather's urging. Which was odd, since he believed in Communist and Russian supremecy.

The two didn't talk much, save for an occasional 'pass the salt, please' or 'mosquito' (that was because well…the mosquitoes were devouring both of them and they had agreed to warn each other.) They had finished their meals and were now just sitting, sipping their drinks and listening to the waves lapping up against the sand. It had turned out to be a cool, peacful evening, and Nadia was actually enjoying herself. As for Yassen, well, he too was at ease. It was pleasant to watch the girl smile and laugh. That afternoon, she had asked to go swimming in the sea. So they changed into more comfortable clothing and strolled down to the shore, talking about everyday things.

Yassen hadn't willingly gone swimming, saying that he wasn't one for water, but had given after the girl had harrassed him for an hour. All in all, he actually found her a pleasant girl when she wasn't trying to be a complete brat. He looked up from the table as he heard her yawn, her eyelids drooping with fatigue. Jet lag, perhaps.

"You should get some sleep," he said, signaling the waiter. He paid the bill and stood up. Nadia groaned softly, too tired to rise from her seat. Yassen flicked her on the shoulder playfully. He had grown quite fond of irritating her.

"Alright, alright, I'm…." She stopped short. Yassen looked at her, then found himself listening closely, trying to make out the noise over the chatter of their fellow diners. And then…he heard it. Gunshot.

"Nadia, get down!"

**Please Review! I need your feedback in order to make the next chapter as good as it can be! Please Review!**


	7. Nice to See You

**This, my dear readers, is Action/Smack-Down time. This is where the world of Nadia Volkova turns upside-down as the secrets come out and the clues unfurl, revealing something neither she nor the killer-for-hire expected. Prepare for the exhilarating madness of a killer and perhaps a killer-to-be. But you won't know until you read. Review…review, I say, if you want the madness to continue. Note: I have changed the surname of Anastasia, Nadia's mother, as well as Alek's surname, due to recent evidence. Russians do not pass on last names as we do. The child usually takes the father's first name. If you have any questions about this, private message me or look it up. I'm not sure if my facts are totally correct, but hey, this is fiction. Sorry if I'm causing confusion.**

**Sincerely,**

**Jasper Blood**

Skeleton Key, Cuba

Her eyes fluttered open, the side of her head suddenly throbbing; as if she had hit her head on concrete. She waited a few moments, letting the blurriness in her vision clear. Her eyes slowly moved upward, focusing on the image before. Silently, she swore. This was the second time she had woken up with Yassen Gregorivich looming over her. Sure enough, Yassen sat beside her, smoking a cigarette, examining her infuriated expression. Following her instincts, the girl sat up, flinging her fists at him. But of course, the killer caught her by the wrists, not surprised at all by her reaction.

"Nice to see you too." He muttered.

"What happened?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What. Happened. Last. Night."

Yassen shifted uncomfortably. "There was a slight difficulty." She stared at him.

"A slight difficulty? I remember hearing gunshot."

"Yes, you did."

"And why do I have such an awful headache."

"Simple. Gunshot typically leads to shooting, therefore it was my first instinct to get you out of the way. Unfortunately, you hit your head on the leg of the table. Which was wrought iron, making for a rather painful headache. That I apologize for. When I brought you back here, I gave you some liquid tylenol. That should ease the pain some." Nadia laid her head back on the pillow, indignant.

"Why were we being shot at?"

He shrugged. "Not sure."

"Not sure?" she hissed. "How can you be not sure? And why on earth would the secretary of a government official be shot at? In Cuba! Not even our own country!" Yassen sighed.

"Do not question me, Miss Volkova, just do what I say."

"I will never…"

"Do what I say, Miss Volkova!" he cut in sharply. "And you will be safe."

"Tell me who you are."

"You know who I am."

"Who you really are!" Nadia shot back. "I'm tired of being unbeknownst to everything! I'm tired of being treated like a child! Why am I here? Who are you really? Why do you work for my grandfather? Why were you being shot at? And why won't you tell me anything?" Yassen sighed.

"That," he paused to take a drag on the cigarette, "You will have to figure out on your own, I am afraid."

"Fine then." She said quietly. "I will."

A few hours later

Nadia's fingers flew across the keys of her laptop, typing in search after search after search, trying every search engine known to man. But there was nothing. Apparently, the name Yassen Gregorivich was known to no one. Not even to the Russian government, the people who supposedly employed him. Which led her to grow more suspicious. But then, a though came to mind. Alek Volkov had said that Yassen had been a friend of the family, that he had known her mother. But just how well had he known her?

Quickly, she typed the words, 'Anastasia Aleksandrovna'. Russians did not change their last names in the fashion that other people did. A child typically took the first name of their father. Nadia was an acception. Alek was not her father, therefore she could not take the name of her mother. And her mother would not allow for her to use her own father's name. So, she had legally taken on the name of her grandfather.

Once she had hit enter, a list of websites and links came up. Anastasia was well known internationally, due to her career. Ms. Aleksandrovna had taken up designing and was known throughout Russia, France, and most of the European countries for her exquisite evening gowns and other, exclusively female, fashions. As she had hoped, her mother's name appeared under Wikipedia. She clicked on the link. As the website came up, she skimmed down the list of facts, rather surprised that this website had so much information on her mother. But then again, the media was tirelessly hounding her. Such a nuisance.

And, sadly, but as she had expected, there was nothing about Yassen. She swore in French, just in case Yassen was nearby. The man had gone off earlier to attend a 'small luncheon', as he had said, and wouldn't be back for an hour or two. Supposedly. But then…another idea came to mind. What if she searched herself? What if she could access her own personal information? Perhaps Yassen's name would be listed as a family friend or an emergency contact? It was worth a try, since it was her only remaining idea. She typed in, 'Nadia Volkova'.

Thank God, the very hospital she had been born in came up. Eagerly, she clicked on the link and waited for it to load impatiently. Once the page came up, it demanded a password. Nadia resisted the urge to swear again. Of course it would ask for that. They wanted to be sure that no one would…steal her identity, or something like that. She racked her brain for a possible code word. Maybe her social security number? But wait she didn't know that. Her birthdate? Alright. She tried it. She typed in her birthdate and waited. Access denied. Her name? Access denied. She thought for a moment. The year of her birth?

"19…96." She murmured. Access granted. Well, how about that. And there it was. Her birth certificate. Halleluiah. She scrolled down the page, skimming over the words. There was her name and her mother's name. And then….

She stopped suddenly. Her…father's…name. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, though she didn't know quite why. Perhaps it was because she had been waiting all her life to see this. Perhaps it was because she was scared to find out who her father was.

"Oh, who am I kidding. I might as well find out." She whispered. She held her breath and scrolled down to the line where her father's name would be written. And there…it was.

Father's name: Yassen Gregorivich.

**You like it? Please let me know!**


	8. Information Overload

**Uh…No long and dramatic introduction this time. Sorry, I'm all out of...dramatic flare. But anyway, this is the eighth edition, the long awaited moment. The moment where all the secrets are revealed, the moment where everything falls into place. Wow, guess I did have the dramatic flare. Ah well, enjoy folks.**

**Cordially,**

**Jasper Blood**

Skeleton Key, Cuba- Present day

Nadia wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Well actually, she didn't know what to do. She wanted run to Yassen, to confront him, to scream at him! But she knew she couldn't. What if Yassen didn't know? After all, her mother had refused to even tell her the name of her biological father, to tell her anything at all about him. He couldn't have known. And if he had, surely he would have told her.

She stared at the computer screen in dismay. Weary, she scrolled down the page just a little more. Proof. The real proof.

Biological Father's name: Yassen Gregorivich

Child's name from birth: Nadia Yassenova

Child's legal name: Nadia Volkova

It was all there. Nadia stared at it, at the moment, unable to react. She just sat there motionlessly. Her name. Her real name.

"My name," she whispered helplessly, "My name is…Nadia Yassenova."

Skeleton Key, Cuba- Mid noon

Yassen sat across from two other men, rolling a cigarette back and forth between two fingers. The two gentlemen were smoking Cuban cigars. Yassen wasn't fond of cigars and only smoked them out of politeness and obligation. This time, it was politeness. And also, because he was sitting across from the two most powerful men in Scorpia, the organization that had employed him many times and had earned him most of the money he possessed.

"Now Yassen, we know that you are loyal to Volkov and his associates, but would it be possible that you could perhaps…disobey his orders?" the older man asked, blowing a cloud of deep blue smoke. He spoke with a British accent. Yassen smiled.

"I apologize Dr. Kent, but this time, even if I wanted to, I cannot disobey Mr. Volkov."

"And why is it that you cannot?" The man inquired. Yassen's smile broadened.

"Because I have something extremely valuable to him in my possession, good sirs, and I cannot put her in any danger."

"Her?" the younger man inquired. He spoke with a German accent. He nodded.

"Yes, her."

"And pray tell, why is she so valuable to Mr. Volkov? He's not going about hiring women is he? I thought he was loyal to his late wife." The older man replied.

"Oh, he is not hiring women, sir. That I can assure you of."

"Well then, who is she?"

"I am afraid I cannot divulge that information. Mr. Volkov does not want to put this valuable, as I said before, in any danger." The German man grumbled under his breath, but the Brit remained placid.

"We understand, Mr. Gregorivich. Our organization can find another killer, though that will be difficult. There are few out there that are as talented as you." Yassen smiled.

"Thank you, sir." The men stood up to go, but Yassen stopped them.

"Gentlemen, may I ask why you shot at us last evening?" The men stopped short.

Hesitant, the Brit answered at last.

"Merely a way to get your attention. We didn't injure you, did we?"

"No, no, sir. Not at all." He answered. Yassen bid the gentlemen good day and sat back down at the table, ordering another drink. As he waited, his cell phone began to vibrate. He picked it up and looked at the caller id. He frowned, irritated. It was Nadia.

"What," he hissed. There was silence on the other line. He began to grow worried. "What is it?" He listened closely. There was a what sounded like a soft whimpering and there was a click and the line was disconnected. Snapping the phone shut and depositing it into the nearest waste basket (for his own protection- you never know who's watching), he shot off to the hotel.

Cayo Esquelito Hotel- Fifteen minutes later

Yassen pressed his ear to the door, listening for any possible predators inside the room. There was nothing. Disregarding the key, he kicked open the door effortlessly. And there she was. A young girl knelt over the bed, weeping. Disconcerted and extremely worried, Yassen rushed to her, taking her into his arms and holding her close. Nadia normally would have attacked anyone who was not a blood relative and approached her as such, but this time, she buried her head in his chest, embracing the warmth of his arms. And she cried.

The tears gushed like wild rivers, unable to be stopped. He tried to coax her but nothing worked. The poor girl had lost control of her emotions and could not get them back.

"Nadia, what is it? What is wrong?" he whispered. Nadia bit her lip, fighting to hold the tears back.

"I…I…" She broke into tears once again. It seemed as if a single word was like a crushing blow to her. And Yassen could do nothing. He was a killer, not a babysitter. He didn't know how to calm a child, much less talk to one. His words were meant to be soft and gentle, but they came out cold and hard. It was useless. All he could do was let her cry. At last, Nadia looked up at him and managed only a few words.

"Look. On. The. Bed." Her tears caused her to practically choke on every word. Yassen nodded, releasing her gently and taking the paper off of the bed. He looked it over.

He was looking at a birth certificate. Nadia's birth certificate. But how could this make her cry? He skimmed over it, utterly puzzled. And then…he saw it.

Yassen Gregorivich. Contract Killer. Professional Murderer. But…father? He felt as if his heart was being ripped apart, twisted and contorted into impossible positions and then crushed in the fingers of an iron fist. Salty tears welled in his eyes, threatening to break through the barriers of his strength and flow down, just as the girl next him. One might expect him to be infuriated by the fact that he had stayed under the radar for nearly a decade, living a luxurious life-on-the-run, and now was aware that he had a child. Another nuisance that would destroy his life.

But he wasn't. No, far from it. It was not anger that was forming a knot in his stomach. It was sadness. Sheer, horrible, sickening, grief. All this time, he had had a daughter. A beautiful, lovely, wonderful daughter. An angel, a gem, a diamond that glitters in the white light of the moon. A headstrong, feisty, and defiant daughter. And she was all his. And he had never known it.

A single tear trickled down the killer's cheek. The face that showed emotion to no one was now contorted with pain and sadness. And he too could not control it. Not knowing what else to do, he held Nadia in his arms, stroking her soft, dark hair, kissing her head, holding her close to him.

"Nadia," he whispered. "I…I did not know." She looked up at him, all the sadness in the world collecting in those ice blue eyes. Her father's eyes. He looked back at her, the emotion so strong, so unbearable. "Nadia…I am sorry."


	9. Bonjour, Mademoiselle

**Alright guys, the 9****th**** chapter is here. This is where Anastasia Aleksandrovna is given a run for her money and meets up with her killer ex. for the first time in thirteen years. Hope you like it! And please review! Also, I moving into my new house in a few days but I'm not getting my internet hooked up for another ten days! Which sucks for me. Therefore, I can't update any of my stories for the next ten days. I believe I get hooked up on the 27****th**** of June. So just bear with me and please review!**

**Cordially,**

** Jasper Blood**

**P.S**

**Thank you for your patience!**

Anastasia Aleksandrovna's office- Paris, France

Anastasia stood before the great floor-to-ceiling windows, staring blankly out at the city. Paris. The city of light. And the city of style. Hundreds of designers from all over the world came to this city to show their latest designs. And it was here where she had headquartered her booming style business.

Ms. Aleksandrovna was a tall, shapely, woman with long, dark brown hair that she wore pinned up with a tortoise shell clip. She wore a knee-length black, silk dress with a shawl of white velvet draped over her tan shoulders. Her outfits were typically simple, making her natural beauty even more radiant. There was a metallic ring from the intercom and a voice filtered into the room.

"_Mademoiselle Aleksandrovna, you have a visitor."_

"I'm a little busy Antoinette. Can you see if it is possible for them to come at a later date?"

"_I can try, Mademoiselle, but they seem quite urgent._"

Anastasia sighed.

"Can you ask for identification, Antoinette?"

"_Oui._"

Silence.

"_Mademoiselle, it is the photographer you sent for a half an hour ago. Would you like me to send him up?_"

Anastasia thought for a moment. She had sent for a photographer, but she didn't expect him to come so quickly. Oh well, the earlier the better.

"Ah yes, do send him up, dear."

"_Mai oui, Mademoiselle_."

"Thank you, Antoinette. You can go on your break now, if you'd like."

"_Merci, Mademoiselle. Au revoir_."

"Yes, _au revoir._" Anastasia straightened her dress, ridding it of any possible wrinkles and rearranged her shawl. She had to look neat and professional for her guest. She sat down at her desk, thumbing through a few design magazines. There was a knock.

"Ah, _Monsieur_, come in." she called. But little did the designer know, that behind the glass French doors stood Yassen Gregorivich, looking for answers and not above using force to get them.

Anastasia was still looking at the pictures as he entered.

"_Monsieur_, I did not expect you so soon…." She looked up. But the photographer Robert Antoine, did not stand before her. The man that stood before her was one that she wished never to see again. She stood up immediately, feeling violated by this man's presence.

"_Bonjour, _Ana." He said quietly. Anastasia cringed at the sound of the name. His pet name for her had always been Ana.

"What do you want?" she hissed. Yassen chuckled, obviously amused by her surprise.

"You needn't be so cold with me, Ana. We are not enemies, are we?" His voice was sweet and languid. Anastasia quietly opened her desk drawer, her fingers curling around the Browning Hi-Power pistol that she always kept near. Her father's infamous reputation had caused many an unpleasant meeting for the young designer.

Noticing her movement, Yassen quickly intervened. "You won't be needing that, Ana. I have no interest hurting you."

"What do you want, then?" she inquired, her voice lethal. Yassen chuckled softly.

"I want answers."

"Answers to what?"

Yassen sat down in one of the large leather chairs and crossed his legs, lighting cigarette.

As he did so, he continued on casually. "You did not tell me, Ana," he paused to blow a cloud of smoke, "that you had a daughter." Anastasia looked up at him abruptly.

"You…you have met Nadia?" she whispered.

"She's a lovely child when she's not trying to be a spoiled brat." He answered nonchalantly, but there was a sharp edge to his voice. Anastasia was taken aback.

"How dare you speak of my daughter that way!" she snapped. "Nadia is a wonderful child, an excellent child!"

"You needn't be so sensitive, Ana. I said she was a lovely child. She just…seems to be headstrong. Like her mother."

Anastasia sat down at her desk slowly, her body rigid and tense.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you had a daughter, that you got married?"

She folded her hands impatiently. "I did not tell you because it was none of your business, Yassen. I had a life of my own. While you were off disposing of whatever decent people you're employers paid you to dispose of, I was beginning my career, starting a family. My life was quite wonderful up until now."

"Ah yes, I suppose my appearance is quite disturbing to you. My apologies." Yassen answered, though his voice was hardly apologetic.

"Stop it." She whispered.

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to make me feel guilty! I left you with good reason, Yassen. I could not be with you, not with your…job. It just wouldn't be right. And besides, I had my…."

"Child?" he cut in. She nodded.

"Yes, Nadia." Yassen nodded.

"And of course, you could not keep your child around me. I didn't qualify to be a father."

"What…what are you talking about?"

"That child is mine, Ana. And you know it. You seem to be unaware that throughout this entire conversation, you have mentioned nothing about your husband, the supposed father of your child. Does he even exist?"

"Damn it!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes, a sense of defeat in her voice. She was angry. Yassen was figuring it all out. Just as he always did. He could always read her. She could not hide from him forever. "How did you know?" she whispered at last. Yassen smiled.

"Nadia is quite crafty. When she wants answers, she finds them, regardless of our explanations. She accessed her birth certificate. How, I am not sure. But she found information. Information that would surprise both of us. Information that brings me here to you today." His eyes were murderous but his voice was calm. Anastasia looked at him, the tears now trickling down her cheeks.

Yassen got up and approached her slowly. She did not move. He then came closer and took her into her his arms. Almost immediately, Anastasia buried her head into his chest, lost for words. She could imagine the anger and sadness and pain that bubbled within him, the feeling of betrayal. He had loved her with the utmost sincerity and yet she had kept the most wonderful thing in the world from him. And now, that anger was evident in his voice.

He pushed her away from him, ignoring the tears that spilled down her cheeks. His voice was hostile, his eyes were homicidal. There was no trace of calmness in his expression. Yassen was furious. And he would unleash that fury onto the woman that he had sacrificed everything for, only to have it thrown back into his face. He advanced on her, his fingers curling around the trigger of his gun. Anastasia knew of Yassen's skill. She knew he could kill her and not leave a trace. She knew she would have to give him an extremely detailed explanation in order to have him leave without her life.

"Yassen, I had to keep it from you. I could not let a small girl be subject to the violence that you are involved with. I could not tell her what you did and what you would do in the future. I had to keep her away, for her own safety, her own protection…."

"You could have told me." He cut in sharply.

"You know I could not do that. How could I tell you when you wouldn't even be able to see her? It would tear you apart; knowing everyday that you had a child out there, somewhere, looking for you. And you would not be able to go after her, to watch her grow up. You would not be able to watch her dance recitals or go to her plays or go to her tournaments. You would not be able to do any of that. Even you, Yassen, even you could not tolerate that."

"You could have told her."

"If I had told her it would have torn her life apart as well. I have torn her life apart as it is! Nadia always knew she had a father but I would not tell her anything, for fear that she would want to go after you. She would want to search for you, you to speak with you, to contact you! And I would have to watch her fail everytime, because I knew she would never find you. I could not do that to her, to either of you…"

Yassen had had enough. His hands were suddenly around her neck, his grip growing tigher as she struggled.

"You are wrong, Ana. My life has already been torn apart. My happiness is no more."

"Please Yassen!" she begged. "Yassen you must believe me, please! I would never, ever, ever, hurt you intentionally!"

"You left me!" he shouted, not caring if he drew attention to himself. "Was the pain entailed with that not intentional!"

"Oh damn it all, Yassen!" Anastasia cried. "I was already pregnant when I left you!" Yassen stopped squeezing, suddenly, seemingly frozen. Anastasia gasped for breath, but with little success.

"I loved you more than anything else in the world, Yassen. I wanted to marry you, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you!" she cried breathlessly. "But I couldn't. It was too late." Yassen simply stared at her, his eyes glazed over, his exression…dazed. Anastasia struggled to release herself, but soon found that her captor's grip was loosening ever so slowly. But everything else seemed to have come to a standstill. Then suddenly, Yassen released her, allowing Anastasia to fall into her chair, struggling to regain breath. And Yassen Gregorivich stormed out of the office, leaving the designer to sit there, shocked and breathless, without so much as a goodbye.

He had gotten his answers. Now, he didn't know what he wanted.

**You like it? It's going to be the last for a while, I'm afraid. But if you enjoyed this chapter, please, please review! I love your feedback! Thank you!**


	10. Blood Money

**Alright kids Jasper is back and this is chapter 10! This one is focused on how Yassen first became a killer, kind of a flashback. It also goes into how Anastasia and Yassen meet up after their childhood. So please, be kind and Review! Reviews are pretty much all I live for nowadays so if you don't…well, I guess I'll die. And if I do die, you'll never, ever, get to see what happens next! That would be utterly horrible, wouldn't it? Please, oh please, REVIEW!**

**Yours truly,**

**Jasper Blood**

**Note: The 'she' that the voice on the phone is talking about in the beginning and the end is irrelevant to the story. Just so you're not confused.**

Paris, France- 1996

(Flashback of how Anastasia and Yassen met after their childhood)

He sat at a small table in the very back of the nightclub, sipping a glass of champagne. The club was somewhat crowded, although it should have been. It was, after all, Friday night. Waiters speaking rapid-fire French scurried about. Rich women wearing exotic gowns and gems clung to their husbands or significant others, sipping wine and crooning like drunkards. Billionaire men smoked cigarettes and cigars and barked at the waiters for more champagne. It was like a scene out of Casablanca.

But he liked it better that way. He preferred the now vintage styles of the early days rather than the unkempt and wild fashions of the present. But the scenery wasn't what had attracted his attention. The beautiful woman on the stage was what seemed to hypnotize him. Her voice flowed out across the room, going over the buzz of diners. The cobalt blue, silk gown she wore clung to her skin, perfectly accenting her sleek, curvy figure. Her dark hair hung in curls around her shoulders, the dangling diamond earrings glittering in the dim light. She was exquisite.

He examined her like a tiger, preparing to pounce upon its prey. He was mesmerized, his eyes not once moving away from her. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

"_Is she dead_?"

"Yes."

"_Excellent. Where are you now_?"

"Paris."

"_Enjoying your success_?"

"I do not enjoy my work."

"_You will in time. You must learn to savor the art of killing. To feel the weapon in your hands, to feel its power surging through you. It is a feeling that you will soon be addicted to. You will do well_ _here_." There was a soft click and the call was disconnected. He snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his pocket, his gaze still fixed on the woman. He wanted more than anything to simply talk to her, to hold her in his arms, to kiss every inch of her. Like he had in the old times. But he knew, sadly, that it wasn't as simple as that.

Moscow, Russia- three years earlier

He stood waiting. His dark hair clung to his skull, drenched with rain. His skin was dappled with thousands of transparent droplets, the deep chill raising the hairs on his arms and legs. A fine drizzle soaked every inch of the city. Cars raced past, tourists and natives hurried for cover. No one noticed him. No one ever would. Not today, not ever.

Because in the eyes of a normal person, he didn't exist. He was no one. His name was Yassen Gregorivich, an eighteen year old boy. He had just finished his senior year and already received a scholarship to the Lomonosov Moscow State University. He wanted to be an engineer. But he knew this would never be so. All his life, he had been bred for some unknown future. At the age of six he was enrolled in a martial arts class.

He received a black belt within that year. At the age of twelve he took courses in marksmanship, ranging from firing a gun to shooting an arrow. His first year in junior high, he was trained in swordsmanship. Throughout high school, he was the champion of the wrestling team. But all of this was mandatory, in order to please the family. Never had he been given a choice. No one cared about such petty things as mathematics and journalism and history. No one cared if he made the honor roll or the dean's list.

That was no cause for celebration. It was expected. Perfection was something that had quite literally been beaten into him. But all for an unknown cause. The one question in his life that had never been answered was, 'Why?'

The Night Before

Pytor Gregorivich barked into the cell phone, his loud and raspy voice echoing through the dimly lit hallway. Blue smoke leaked from his nostrils, coiling around his head. In his hand, he held a glass half filled with vodka. It was his fifth for the evening.

"_I have a task for you, Pytor_."

"I understand, Alek. But I will not do it for free, you know that." When he spoke, his words were slurred together. There was a raspy chuckle.

"_You haven't changed Pytor. But actually, it is not you who will be paid._" Pytor's expression darkened.

"What do you mean by this?" he growled, his voice low and hostile.

"_You want your son to join Scorpia. To be a killer. To carry on the family legacy. You are just waiting for the perfect opportunity. I may have that opportunity._"

"Speak, Volkov."

"_My wife is becoming far too curious about my line of work. She knows that the Russian government is corrupt and that I too am considered…corrupt_."

"Corruption is what keeps our world spinning, my friend. The balance between what is right…and what we want. Nothing is fair in this world." He interrupted.

"_Quite true. But I am growing tired of Yulia. She is persistent. She needs to be disposed of. Yassen can do it._"

"Because God forbid you do it," he muttered.

"_Of course not. Anastasia mustn't know that I killed her mother, much less had her killed. It would break her heart._"

"And what about my boy? What if she finds out about him? Then what? You know Yassen's always been sweet on her." There was a deep chuckle from the other line.

"_Childhood sweethearts never last. My Ana deserves better than that rat._" Pytor laughed.

"Yassen doesn't deserve much of anything. Especially not a gem like her. He was always a misfit, spending his time with his nose in a textbook. He's resisted my attempts to make him a better man, and he shall have to learn the hard way."

"_Then this is indeed the perfect opportunity_."

"Quite. But Alek, how much were you going to pay him?"

"_A quarter of a million, perhaps_." He smiled to himself.

"Alek, instead of paying my boy, why don't you give me the money? After all, he doesn't deserve it."

"_An excellent point_."

Moscow, Russia- Red Square

Among the throngs of tourists running for cover, he spotted a tall, gray haired man waiting in one of the cafes. Hastily he approached, keeping his eyes trained on the stones, paying attention to no one. That was he had been instructed.

_Come at 2:00. Do not attract attention. Make sure no one is following you. Come alone_. He entered the café quietly, perfectly unnoticed amongst the buzz of activity. In hindsight, it was the perfect location. Completely inconspicuous.

_But why would it need to be?_ He thought. Alek looked up and waved to him, gesturing him to the table.

"Ah Yassen, it is good to see you." He said, smiling broadly.

"And you as well, sir." Yassen answered quietly. Alek's eyes were still bright, but his voice lowered, his tone grave.

"I have a task for you, Yassen."

"My father forewarned me of that."

"Are you able to do it?"

"It depends on what task it is, sir. I may not be capable." He answered quietly, though there was a sarcastic tone to his voice. Alek flashed a hostile glare at him.

"Oh you will be more than capable, young Yassen. Everything you've ever dreamed of depends on it." Yassen could not help but chuckle.

"Forgive me sir, but I do not think that that is possible." As he said it, he instantly regretted it. The man's hand flashed before his eyes, burning his cheek.

"Do not be snide with me, boy. I have enough influence on the university to revoke your scholarship entirely. Enough influence to ban you from even setting a single foot onto that campus. You won't be seeing your prized degree until I'm finished with you." Every word seemed to drip with toxin. Yassen lowered his head slightly.

"Point taken."

"Good." He snapped. He then produced a piece of paper from his coat pocket. "Here is your assignment."

_Kill Yulia Volkova. You will do it at nine o'clock this evening. She will be at the Hotel Ukraina, attending a party. You will claim that there is a message for in the front hall. When she is gone, you will drug her drink. Then you will leave. Do not give your name to anybody. Do not attract any attention. _That was all that was written. He didn't know what to do, what to say. All he could do was stare at the writing in horror. At last he looked up at the man before him.

"Mr. Volkov,"

"Will you do it?"

"Mr. Volkov I cannot. I…I…could never kill anyone, especially not your wife. I have known her all my life. She was always kind to me. And…for you to ask me to kill your own spouse? I…I could not…no…would not. Not ever." He stared at him in disbelief. All of this, it was sheer madness, sheer terror. But Alek simply smiled, taking something from his coat pocket. He held it before him.

"You see this, Yassen?"

"It is…it is a cell phone."

"Exactly. And with one click, all your dreams can be thrown away." Yassen stared at him, unable to register the words. All his life he had dreamed of being an engineer. He loved to build things, to experiment with contraptions. If this man revoked his scholarship, he would never get into another college. If he had the power to take away his scholarship, it haunted him to think of what he could forge onto his record. He took one last look at him.

"I will do it."

"Excellent."

Hotel Ukraina- 2100 Hours

He straightened his tie and brushed his fingers through his hair as a last minute touch-up. The rich, luxurious lobby of the Hotel Ukraina was abuzz with wealthy diplomats. All of them, from the bejeweled gowns to their silken suits, they practically dripped with money. It was sickening. His father had that kind of money, money that he shared with nobody but himself. He made millions everyday and threw it all away in that same week. Pytor gambled, drank, smoked. He'd spend on dozens of bottles of the finest liquors, the most expensive cigarettes, and gamble off the rest at the casinos.

Of course, when his mother worried, he would shower her with the finest gems and jewelry, the _in_ fashions, take her out for fancy dinners or on international vacations. But none of it was out of love. It was all to keep her quiet, to keep her from discovering his true line of work. That was what sickened Yassen the most. What money could do to a person. It was like a toxin. It poisoned you, incinerating the good within and replacing it with evil and greed. It twisted your mind and threatened your sanity.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He flipped open the device and eyed the screen. Volkov.

"_Begin the operation now_." A voice said. Yassen closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard.

"Yes sir."

"_And Yassen, I am warning you. You are not to speak to my wife. I have reinforcements set up all over the lobby. Look around you, you will see them._" Involuntarily, he glanced up. Two hulking men in black suits stood only a few yards away.

"_If you speak to her, you will be shot directly. If you try to warn her in any way, you will be shot directly. And if you do not confirm her death,_"

"I will be shot directly, yes I got that part."

"_You are just like your father. You will do well here_."

"Where is here exactly, if I may ask?"

There was a deep chuckle. "_Scorpia, the organization that employs your father. Generations of your family can be found in their records,_"

"And this Scorpia is?" he interrupted.

"_All in good time, Yassen. All in good time. Do you wish to make any more rude interruptions?_"

"Yes, actually. Sir, why is it that you wish to kill your wife?"

"_That is of no concern to you_." He answered coldly.

"Alright. One more question."

"_What?_" he hissed.

"What am I to tell your daughter?"

There was not but silence. "Sir,"

"_You will say nothing of this to her._" He snapped.

"And if I do?"

Alek chuckled. "_She will not believe you._"

"Your daughter and I have confided in each other since we were children, sir. She knows that I am honest." This time, the reply was spoken with the utmost hostility.

"_I do not doubt your honesty, Yassen. But in time, you will learn that dishonesty is what will keep you alive. But never the less, you are true to your word more often then not; therefore, I have a suitable punishment for you. If you a speak single word of this to my daughter,_"

"I'll be shot directly?"

"_No, you ignorant idiot! You will die in my clutches! You will die a death so horrid, so terrible,_"

"Point taken." And he snapped the phone shut, chuckling to himself. That man needed to take an anger management class. And he hoped to God that he wasn't involved in this 'Scorpia' thing. He'd kill anybody who interrupted him.

2100 hours exactly. Killing time.

Yassen strode through the enormous ballroom at the Hotel Ukraina, searching every face that came near him, careful to keep his head bent. He tried to seem relaxed, though this wasn't easy. As he paced, hundreds of thoughts buzzed through his head. _What do I do? Calm down Yassen, you've been given instructions. Follow them. But how do I kill? I…I've never killed anybody. _

_I don't want to kill anybody. But I must. Volkov has the power to take everything I've worked for. But what will I tell Anastasia? I love her more than anything else in the world. And now I have to kill her mother. What kind of way is that to say 'I love you?'_

He tugged at his collar nervously._ But wait... I am like my father. What did he mean by that? _Everything was so confusing, so frightening. And yet, everything seemed to come easily. He thought of how he had so calmly responded to Alek's words, how he had seemed in control. He had never been in control before. He liked that feeling.

The Art of Killing

When it happened, it would happen quickly. He spotted her. He didn't have to look too hard. He knew her face well. She was beautiful. A tall, slender woman with short dark hair that framed her lush green eyes. It was easy to say that she stood out in a crowd. Alek stood beside her, smiling, kissing her playfully when they weren't surrounded by throngs of people.

That was what confused him. They looked like a regular couple, perfectly in love. Alek acted as if nothing was amiss, as if everything between them was wonderful. And yet, he was plotting to kill her. It just didn't add up. But, then again, he was probably an expert on keeping a calm, collected expression. Being a politician, one had to know how to lie. Especially in Moscow. The city was a criminal beehive.

You could be a drug addict, a thief, a con artist, it didn't matter. You could usually slip under the radar with ease. He stopped and thought for a moment. Contract killers made millions practically every week and were hardly ever caught and put in prison. But they weren't your typical thuggish gang leaders. They were sophisticated. They killed with undeniable grace and elegance. And they had more wealth than the average billionaire could imagine.

And they hardly had to work for it. Just shoot a bullet or drug a drink or inject a poison, that was all there was to it. A fierce glance from Volkov jolted him from his deep thoughts. Quickly, he brushed himself off and started toward them at a comfortable pace.

"Mrs. Volkova,"

"Yes?" she looked at him, a questioning glance in her eyes.

"There is a message for you in the lobby, ma'am. I am sorry to interrupt your evening, but it was stated as quite urgent."

"Who was it from?"

"It was labeled anonymous, ma'am. And none of the hotel staff is allowed to read or so much as glance at any of our guests' letters or personal belongings." She smiled.

"Thank you for ensuring my privacy." She chuckled softly. She then turned to Alek, smiling. "I will be back in a moment, my love." She whispered, kissing him quickly on the lips. As she left, a waiter stopped her briefly. They talked for a moment and she handed her glass to him. Yassen watched out of the corner of his eye.

"Mine." Alek said quietly. Yassen did not nod. He walked quietly toward the man.

"Excuse me sir, might I have that glass."

"I was going fill it for Mrs. Volkova." He answered. Yassen flashed a smile filled with impeccable teeth.

"Allow me, sir. I was going to talk to her anyway." The man did not protest anymore, he simply nodded and walked away. Yassen held the neck of the glass between two fingers, careful not to let his fingertips touch it and carried it to the array of glass flasks, filled with a variety of wines and liquors. He sniffed at the remainder of the liquid in the glass. It was a red wine and the scent was similar to chardonnay. He set the glass down on the table lightly and removed a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket. He glanced about for a moment to make sure no one was looking, and slipped on the glove. He then picked up the glass; poured in a clear liquid, poured the wine in and stirred it together.

Drugging was a popular and extremely effective method of killing. For one thing, it got the job down without a sound and it was inconspicuous. No one paid close enough attention to see what he was putting in and even if they did, they wouldn't know what it was. Another plus was that it was almost impossible to figure out the identity of the person who had drugged it unless someone had gotten a direct look. The rubber gloves were merely an extra precaution.

He picked up the glass, handed it promptly to the waiter who had originally taken it and walked away. His job was done. By this time, Alek was nowhere to be found.

Yulia Volkova was announced dead approximately two hours after her first sip of wine. Death by ingestion of gasoline. No one knew how it had got there. But even if they did the person who had put it there was well out of the country.

Paris, France- 1996

"_Is she dead?_" Julia Rothman's voice was distorted by the static.

"Yes."

"_Excellent. Where are you now?_"

"Paris."

"_Enjoying your success?_"

"I do not enjoy my work." He sipped his champagne, barely paying attention to her words. The last thing she said before disconnecting the call was, '_I'll have your money hand delivered._' And he snapped the device shut. He slipped it back into his pocket, taking another sip, his eyes focused on the beautiful woman before him. Everything about her was so tantalizing, so seductive. At first, he had hardly recognized his childhood friend. Anastasia had always been a very quiet, modest girl, and this alluring jewel before him was quite the contrast. He smiled thoughtfully and drained the rest of his champagne, watching in content silence.

Anastasia had recognized him the moment he had entered. It was him. From his boyish chestnut brown hair to his fierce blue eyes that seemed to permanently have a mischievous glint in them. Though she would have liked to say that nothing had changed, she couldn't help but notice something. His eyes seemed to have lost a bit of their shine. They didn't glow with the intensity they once had. They looked…older. Wiser?

No. They looked aged, as if they had seen years' worth of pain. They looked colder, harder, emotionless. They no longer held that cheerful sparkle. Now, they looked cruel and unforgiving, amused by pain and suffering. But never the less, she had to speak to him.

The woman rushed to him, practically throwing herself into his arms. He smiled coolly, his eyes sparkling. She buried her head in his chest, breathing deeply. She pulled her head back after a few moments, still holding onto him, gazing into his eyes.

He kissed her gently on the forehead, secretly relieved. So her fondness for him had lasted the past few years.

"Oh Yassen," she whispered. "I was beginning to think I'd never see you again." He chuckled.

"I hardly recognized you." He replied. Her pale skin flushed instantly.

"Uh yes, I suppose I have changed some." She said quietly. He smiled slightly and took her back into his arms.

"You are a singer now?" She lowered her head slightly.

"In memory of my mother. You knew she was a singer, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Well, it's also to perhaps catch the eye of a designer. I need to promote my fashions somehow." She added with a faint smile. Yassen smiled back, but there was no happiness in it. He seemed so different, so cool and reserved. He had always been quiet, but he didn't act so…arrogant. At least, that's what he seemed like. He seemed like he didn't give a damn about anything. Which, irritated her but she willed herself to keep calm. It was the same Yassen, she tried to convince herself.

"How have you been?" she inquired.

"Alright. You?"

"About the same." She pressed her head into his chest again, breathing in the now overwhelming scent of cigarette smoke. She remembered in high school that he tried smoking, but had halted all attempts after her urging. Apparently, he had begun again, and was now fully immersed. She looked up at him, an expression of feigned disappointment on her face. She slipped her fingers into his pocket, feeling around for the packet. Her fingertips curled around it and she brought it before him.

"I had hoped you would show better judgment, Yassen." She chided. He chuckled.

"At least I'm not doing drugs."

"This is close enough. I want you to quit."

"I don't have to do what you say."

"You do if you want my love."

"I didn't think we were married." She smiled.

"We could be."

"Not yet. But maybe someday." Her eyes were hopeful. "Someday soon."

She laughed.

"I detect a bit of regret in your voice." She countered. He smiled and kissed her neck, his breath sending chills down her spine.

"Soon, I promise." He said sternly. "But not today. I have work to do. I need to establish a career."

"You haven't yet?" she inquired jokingly. Yassen rolled his eyes.

"I have. But I have to prove myself first before I am… hired on full-time. He fumbled with the words. It still pained him a little to mention anything about his job. It reminded him of his first assignment, one he wanted to forget.

"Ah."

"Uh, Ana, do you mind if we take a walk?" he answered quickly. She smiled.

"Of course."

They strolled at a leisurely pace along the Champs-Elysees, talking quietly. His arm was around her waist, forcing her to stay close to him. But she didn't mind. They talked about most everything, memories, the weather, things that held absolutely no interest really, but they didn't care. They just wanted to be with one another again, after what felt like an eternity. But still, she could hear the cold, impatient edge in his voice. She knew he was not telling everything. He kept their subjects mundane and unimportant, nothing serious, nothing in depth.

They walked in silence now, apart from one another, their eyes staring straight ahead. Hers would wander every once in a while, but his were nailed to some invisible target. But then, he stopped.

"Yassen," she said. "Yassen." He waved his hand dismissively, his eyes not moving. Slowly, she diverted her gaze to where he looked.

A man dressed in a suit of black with short, graying hair stood before them. He smiled, revealing perfect teeth.

"Good evening, Yassen." He held out a silver briefcase. "Your pay." Anastasia stared at the man for a moment. He looked vaguely familiar. Though his hair was silver, it was close-cropped and cut in the same way as Yassen's. His skin was of the same color too. But what was most startling was the eyes. Ice blue. And then, she recognized him.

Pytor Gregorivich. Yassen's father. A member of Scorpia. A killer-for-hire.

"Yassen," she looked at him, tears in her eyes. "You are one of them?" Yassen still would not look at her, fury surging through his veins. Why was he here? What did he want? And then, he remembered.

"_I'll have your money hand delivered_." So this was what she had meant. Quietly, his voice cold and hostile, he replied to the man, "You should not have come."

"I was following orders. I'm proud of you, Yassen. You are doing well." The words echoed in his mind. They were words he had been waiting to hear all of his life. But now, he didn't care. He stared at the man, there eyes identical. And then, he drew his gun from his pocket. Anastasia watched him silently.

"Ana, close your eyes."

"What?" she whispered.

"Close them."

"Yassen, I…"

"Close them now Ana, close them!" he snapped angrily. The moment her eyelids shut, he pulled her into his arms, aimed the gun and….

Pytor Gregorivich was killed that night by his son. There wasn't much of a rhyme or reason why, he just did. It was the third kill in a very long line, the beginning of an excellent career. But with every excellent career, there are prices one must pay.


	11. Liar

**Alright everybody, here it is, the… (drum roll please)…11****th**** chapter! No applause, no applause, just throw money. Or gift cards or candy. Anyway, I feel it necessary to thank everyone who has reviewed and supported this story- the new reviewers and the old faithfull's. Thanks guys! I wouldn't have the guts to continue this without you! Special thanks to Armanifan101 and cjpatel105 for always answering my desperate PMs and giving me awesome advice and ideas! So, please enjoy and REVIEW! Like I said, I'll die without them.**

**Yours Truly,**

**Jasper Blood**

**Side Note: Yassen is not working for Sarov, though his whereabouts will be somewhere in the upcoming chapters. This one focuses on the death of Yulia Volkova and Alek Volkov's infamous background. **

Paris, France- Present Day

Ah Paris. Paris, the city of light, the city of love, the city of style. Everything was so bright and alive, so vivid and vibrant. Unique shops and boutiques lined the cobblestone streets, their colorful and exotic goods piled high in the shop windows. Restaurants and cafes were overflowing with natives and tourists, the sound of clinking plates and glasses filtering through the wide-open doors. Three-story townhouses of all colors and sizes were bursting with flowers and people and wonderful smells. The window boxes burst with perennials, their owners busily tending to them.

On The _Place Vendome_, the headquarters of _Chanel_ was teeming with designers and workers and of course, anyone wealthy enough to purchase something from the company, notorious for its prices. But all this was only during the day. When twilight came around and the sky darkened, everything was transformed. The _Eiffel Tower_ soared above the city skyline, reaching up to the heavens. The _Avenue Des Champs-Elysees_ was completely illuminated, bursting with colors and sights and smells, all leading up to the brilliant star that lay ahead. None other than, the Arc D'Triumph, bathed in a warm bronze light.

Anastasia stood gazing down at the dark waters of the Seine, listening to the faint pitter-patter of snowflakes touching the surface, then quickly melting away, swallowed in the cavernous maw of the river. The streets were lightly dusted with white, as if sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. She smiled.

"Like Candy Land." She whispered, thinking back to when Nadia was a little girl. She had adored the American board game, and every time it snowed, she would say that. Anastasia blinked back tears. The very thought of her beautiful daughter brought tears to her eyes. Long fingers touched her shoulder.

"I thought I might find you here." Anastasia kept her eyes focused on the soft 'swish' of the waves lapping against the stone barriers.

"I thought you had business to attend to." She answered flatly, her voice barely above a whisper. He bent his head closer to her, his breath raising the hairs on her neck.

"I could not leave without saying goodbye."

"I thought you had no interest in seeing me again. After all, I have probably succeeded in ruining your life."

Yassen bent closer, kissing her neck lightly. "I didn't think you wanted to kiss me either." She said.

"You know my feelings for you have never changed." He answered, honestly. She was silent for a moment.

"Where is my Nadia?"

"Cuba. Skeleton Key."

"Cuba?" This time she turned to look at him, her eyes gleaming. "Why ever would she be there?"

"I assumed that you were aware. Alek did not tell you?" Her expression turned cold.

"My father would never allow Nadia to go anywhere outside the country, not during the semester."

"Apparently he would. He sent Nadia along with me. He appointed me as her guardian."

"He what?" she hissed, her voice hostile. "My father would never do that! He knows that I did not want you to see her! He promised me!"

"Anastasia, I'm not lying..."

"You are!" she snapped, tears welling in her eyes. "You've never spoken a truthful word in your life!" Her hands were shaking, her entire body trembling. She opened her mouth to speak again but Yassen grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her.

"For God's sake Ana, listen to yourself!" he snapped. "You're father is far from honest!"

"My father would not lie to me." She said simply. That was it. He could no longer contain himself.

"Your father's been leaving me a breadcrumb trail! All this time he was planning for me to find out! He knew that Nadia would be able to put two and two together."

"Why should I believe you?" she snapped.

"Because you know I am telling the truth!"

"You killed my mother!" she screamed, the tears streaming down her cheeks now in a torrent of emotion. "You are a killer! Just like your father and his father and his father before him! You are all alike! You have no emotions, no cares, no honesty! All you care about is how much you're being paid!" Yassen stared at her, downright shocked.

"Is that what your father told you?" he said quietly.

"Yes. But I didn't believe him. Until he showed me the evidence." Yassen looked up immediately.

"What evidence?"

"Your fingerprints on the glass. The glass of wine that you drugged and gave to my mother to drink."

"That's impossible!" he snapped, taken aback. "I was wearing latex gloves. I left no prints."

"My father showed me the glass. He used a special formula to make your fingerprints show up. They were a perfect match."

Yassen could not believe what he was hearing. It was not possible. He had left no trace. If he had, he would have noticed it. He would have been caught, for God's sake. And then, he realized. He had touched the latex gloves as he put them on, thus leaving prints. But wait. He had thrown them into the large hearth in the lobby, considering it the best place to dispose of them. That way, they would melt down, leaving not a trace….

Finally, it donned on him. Alek said that he had men everywhere, watching his every move. As he had left, they could have easily retrieved the gloves from the fire before they melted and used them as make-shift evidence. It was brilliant. He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Volkov had set him up. He had tricked him into murdering a woman by threatening to take away his scholarship…and yet…he wouldn't have gotten it anyway. Had he stuck around in Moscow, he would have been thrown into jail. He wouldn't have gotten the chance.

"Yassen," her voice dragged him reluctantly back to reality.

"He set me up." He whispered. "He set me up."

"My father would never do such a thing. He is a good man." Anastasia replied sternly. Yassen looked at her, his face drained of all color. His blue eyes gleamed, as if filled with tears.

"You are a fool, Ana." He whispered. "And so was I. I believed him."

"Yassen, what are you talking about? How dare you accuse my father of doing something so horrid?"

"Ana, you know I am honest. I have never lied to you."

"You did not tell me about my mother."

"I was directed not to. But you have to believe me Ana. Your father threatened to take away my scholarship, to the engineering school at Lomonsov. He threatened to take away everything from me. I had to do it."

"You are lying!" Anastasia remained steadfast, tears trickling down her cheeks with every word. He reached out to stroke her cheek. His voice was choked.

"I could not make this up, Ana. I loved you more than anything else in the world. I still do. I would not lie to you about this. Not if my life depended on it." Anastasia stared at him. His eyes gleamed with what looked to be tears.

"Yassen, I…"

"Please, Ana. You must believe me. I would never have laid a finger on your mother had I been given a choice."

"I…I…" It was all too much for her. She didn't know who to believe. Her father was a politician, and Moscow politics were brutal and corrupt. At the time of her mother's death, Alek's reputation was a great deal more infamous that had been. And of course, Yulia Volkova had questioned him. Alek didn't like to be questioned. But would he go to such extremes to keep her quiet?

Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes dull and glassy. "I believe you, Yassen." She knew it was a mistake to say that, something she would regret. But she said it anyway. Somehow, she knew he was telling the truth. Granted, she might have been breaking her vows, but in a situation such as this, he was the only she could trust. Yassen had told many a lie, that was true. But when it mattered most, he was honest.

"What is my father doing, Yassen? Why did he send Nadia to Cuba?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out. And I have a feeling that he didn't send her there on vacation."

Moscow, Russia- The Next Day

Alek Volkov sat his desk, a cigar clenched between his fingers. He had heard no news from Yassen or his granddaughter, which didn't surprise him. But he was worried. Had Nadia found out yet? Surely she had. She was intelligent, intuitive, and crafty. She had an uncanny knack for discovering anything that wasn't revealed to her outright. But if she hadn't found out…. He dared not think of that. He had spent too many years planning this for all of it to come crashing down.

Alek had spent many a month planning for the death of his wife. Yulia was becoming too suspicious. She had absolutely no idea that he was in cohorts with the Russian Mafia and had had his share of dealing with Scorpia. But she did know that he lived and breathed solely for the rebirth of communism. The politics of communism were his bread and butter, his savior. The corruption and crime were what he thrived on. She didn't like that. She wanted it stopped. But she couldn't if she didn't know anything about it.

And Alek knew that she didn't know anything about it. But none the less, she was beginning to put two and two together. And she didn't like what she saw. Therefore, she had to be eliminated. No husband would do this to their wife, but Alek was different. He had been young and foolish. He had fallen for an alluring, Russian-born, French nightclub singer. He had thrown away everything for her. He ran away from his home to marry her, throwing away an honorable career and the acceptance of his family.

All for love. And that was a mistake. Love was such a petty thing. So many men ruined their own lives willingly because of love, only to have the woman leave them for another. Granted, Yulia had been a faithful wife and had always been eager to help him, but she got in the way. She was too curious and constantly questioned him. And Alek didn't like that. So, he got rid of her. Simple as that. But unfortunately, the person whom he had planned to blame her death on had fled the scene.

Yassen Gregorovich, an introverted bookworm who cared more about his studies than anything else, was the perfect choice. Or he had been. A single threat and he had given in. And if that didn't work, he could always threaten to do something horrid to his daughter, Yassen's love interest. Ever since the boy was six years old, he had had an obsessive crush over her. But there were a few flaws in this boy. He was smart, smarter in more things than mathematics. He was crafty too. He had thought up all of the diversions and methods of how to successfully dispose of his wife.

And, he had even planned out his escape route. That was the part he didn't like. Naturally, Alek was going to frame him, but the boy had left little evidence to act on, if any, and no one had gotten a good look at his face. And then of course, he had escaped. Years later, this would affect him. Yulia's death brought rounds of suspicion and bad reviews his way and they seemed endless. His reputation had plummeted ever since that day. But naturally, he had a backup plan.

All he had to do was pull a few strings, make a few deals, tell a few lies and the Russian government would play right into his hands. But how would he do that? Simple. He would tell them that he had an active threat in his clutches. An assassin, a killer. Yassen Gregorovich. The government would tremble at that name, the name that was on nearly every Most Wanted List in every intelligence agency in the world. But he would have to make it convincing.

The government most likely wouldn't believe that a retired, communistic old bat had caught a world-class assassin. So, he would have to make it believable. And he didn't mind sacrificing a few loved-ones for his cause. He wouldn't just offer the government power of Gregorovich. He would offer them power over Scorpia. Being as corrupt as it was, even without communism, it would do anything for power over the most powerful assassination organization in the world. And he would give it to him. The achievement would earn him a place in government again…and of course, the added millions he would demand for ransom. But that would be explained later.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in Olga." He expected his secretary. But Olga Vladimirova did not stand in the doorway….


	12. Deception

**Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you…the 12****th**** chapter! Uh…no long, dramatic entrance today…sorry, it's been a long week. So uh…yeah, enjoy. And of course, review. You're reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has given me inspiration and ideas! Oh…and for those of you who are beginning to forget about Nadia…I know I've kind of lost focus on her…she plays a moderate roll in this and a huge role in the upcoming chapters…don't worry. **

**Side Note: For those looking forward to seeing Sarov: Change of Plans! Sarov will be included! But as I mentioned in the last chapter, Yassen isn't actually working for him. I won't give anything more away. Until next chapter….**

Skeleton Key, Cuba- Present Day

Nadia stretched out on the white sand, thousands of tiny grains covering her body. The sun had further darkened her skin and the warm, blue waters of the Atlantic had shriveled the skin on her fingertips and toes. She brought her wrist before her and glanced at her watch. Nearly two PM. Yassen's flight should have arrived by now. Lazily, she pulled herself up, her long, tanned legs causing many an island visitor to mistake her for a young woman rather than a mere child. She meandered around the beach for a few minutes, then strolled back to the suite, hoping to find her 'guardian' waiting.

This was not so. The young Russian entered Mr. Gregorovich's suite quietly, expecting Yassen to be lounging by the window, smoking a cigarette. But he was not there. And the room was not empty.

Moscow, Russia- Present Day

Alek Volkov sipped his vodka slowly, letting the strong flavor meld with the earthy taste of his cigar. He took care in not letting his gaze drift upwards into the assassin's line of sight. And line of fire.

"Hello, Yassen." He said quietly. No answer. "I assume that the job is done?" Still no answer. "Answer me, boy."

"I don't like being ordered around." Yassen stated flatly.

"I am your employer. I am free to 'order you around' as I please." Nothing more was allowed to escape his lips, as Yassen had grabbed his neck tightly, squeezing his airways.

"You set me up! That night at the party; you were going to frame me!" he hissed.

"Of course I was." Alek gasped. "The police was looking for a suspect. I had to give them one in order to be above suspicion. You happened to be at hand."

"Everything you told me; it was all a lie."

Alek forced a chuckle. "I did not know you were so gullible, Yassen. I had no intention of letting you get away and your father certainly had no intention of letting you go to that college." Yassen stared at him for a few moments, then released him. Alek smiled and took a slow, strenuous sip of vodka, clearing his throat.

"My father was involved?"

Alek sighed. "Take a seat, Yassen." He waited a few moments. Apparently, Yassen had refused. "Suit yourself," he muttered. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Alright I will tell you everything. Everything that is relevant to that night."

He nodded.

"Your father wanted you to become an assassin, like your ancestors before you. At the time, Scorpia was relatively new foundation, founded by a nine individuals. The most famous of them being Julia Rothman, a widowed woman of twenty years. But I'm sure you know that already."

Yassen nodded.

"Pytor had no intention of allowing you to attend Lamonosov, but he knew you would have put up a fight. Therefore, I offered him the perfect opportunity."

"So you had me kill your wife, inevitably forcing me into being a member of Scorpia."

"Well, it was a start."

"So why did you threaten me? What was the use if you planned to have me end up in jail anyway?"

"Simple. Like your father, I assumed you would put up a fight, which you did. The threats were merely a back-up plan. Though I must admit, you accepted the task quicker than I had expected."

Yassen was silent. Alek smiled and stood up. He slowly began to circle him.

"You liked that feeling. That feeling of power and control. You'd never had it before. All your life, your father had ordered you around like a slave, telling you what to do and when to do it. When to speak and when to keep your mouth shut. When to be seen and when to be invisible. You craved for control and the feeling of your fingers wrapped around the handle of a pistol or the hilt of a dagger was like a drug to you, something that you are forever addicted to.

"No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, you could not resist that feeling. You wanted more of it, everyday you wanted to feel the exhilaration, the power that surged through you when you pulled the trigger, when you injected the poison, when you stabbed the flesh. It didn't matter how the deed was done. And the fact that you got paid? It was fantasy, something you'd always dreamed of. The thrill of the weapon in your clutches and the gold in your pockets. Whether it was _Rubles_ or _Euros_ or _Dollars_, you craved it, you thrived on it, you lived for it.

"You hungered for wealth that would far surpass that of your father, you wanted your name to be said with fear, and most of all you…"

"…Stop." The word was barked with the utmost hostility. Yassen's eyes were cold and lifeless. Alek smiled.

"And most of all, you wanted vengeance."

"I said stop!"

"You were born to be a killer! It is what you were destined to do…" Alek shouted, but he was cut off as the barrel of Yassen's gun was focused directly between his eyes. The assassin took a step closer.

"Where is Sarov in this?"

"…"

"Tell me or this bullet will be embedded in your forehead and you will be thrown out with the weekly trash."

"Sarov is dead. I hired that idiot Nile to kill him."

"Why?"

"That is none of your business."

The barrel was now pressed against his flesh.

"You will tell me now."

"You will not kill me."

"You think so?"

"You will not because my daughter still believes me. She will always believe me, out of obligation and a sense of loyalty to me, as well she should. If you put that bullet in my head, all your hopes of being reunited with her and your daughter will be thrown away."

Yassen stared at him, his blue eyes giving nothing away.

"And you know that."

"Tell me about Sarov."

"Mrs. Rothman will reveal that to you."

"When?"

"Yassen, I highly suggest that you get the earliest flight back to Cuba as you can. I believe Nadia is still there and Scorpia is employed by someone other than me, someone who will make any sacrifices he must in order to bring back what he believes in. As will I."

Yassen nodded and removed his gun, walking towards the door. He looked back one last time. "Alek Volkov, you are wrong. Your daughter doesn't believe you. Not anymore. Not after the stunt you pulled. Sending me to Cuba with Nadia was the worst mistake you could have made."

In a flash, he aimed his gun and fired.

Alek Volkov lay dead on the study floor, blood streaming from his forehead, his eyes wide with shock. Yassen tucked away his gun and left the house. Forever.

Skeleton Key, Cuba- Present Day

A woman sat in the leather armchair in the corner, her legs crossed and bare, revealing white skin. She wore a simple black, sleeveless dress, a string of large faux pearls clinging to her throat. Bloodred lipstick had been immaculately painted onto her perfectly shaped lips, her eyes hidden behind black lenses. She wore a pair of black Kidd gloves that barely came up to her wrists and her thick black hair had been done up in an intricate knot. Somehow, this stranger reminded her of Audrey Hepburn's portrayal of Holly Golightly, without the charm, of course. This woman's demeanor seemed as cold as a Siberian winter.

"Hello, Nadia." Her voice was as sweet as honey, but as toxic as poison.

"Who are you?" Nadia growled, her voice cold and dangerous. The woman giggled, her lips curling back to reveal sparkling white teeth. Porcelain crowns, no doubt.

"Silly girl, that's no way to treat your elders." Her smile was as fake as artificially flavored candy. Nadia's expression didn't change.

"I respect elders that I know. I'm breaking enough rules just by talking to you now."

"Oh?" she inquired, her eyebrows raising in feigned question. That aggravating smile was still plastered to her face.

"Of course." Nadia answered in a small voice. She stuck out her lower lip and lowered her eyes in an insolent pout. If this imbecile of a woman was going to treat her like a three year old, she might as well respond like one. "Mommy told me never to talk to strangers."

At once, the smile vanished. The woman stood up quickly, her back as straight as a soldier's. Her legs moved languidly as she slithered forward. Before she could back away, sharp crimson nails flashed before her, clawing her face.

"Listen to me closely, little girl." She said, her sweet voice doing nothing to cover up the hostility in her tone. "I won't stand for any backtalk; therefore I highly suggest that your keep your pompous little trap shut until I say to open it." She hissed. With her free hand, she snapped her fingers. Two large men dressed in black suits and sunglasses walked through the doorway that led to Nadia's suite. "Get this impertinent brat out of my sight." She shot a cold glare at the girl. "And be none too gentle with it."

The two man grabbed hold of her shoulders, slightly surprised by her strength. Nadia thrashed and kicked, taking them by surprise for a moment but they soon sized her up and figured out how to control her. When she realized her attempts were useless, she spat at them and swore at them in Russian, hoping to instigate them, to get them to lose focus for just a moment, but it was no use. They had figured her out. She had no chance of escape. They brought her out into the corridor where she was promptly sprayed with sleeping gas.

Julia Rothman watched as the girl was led out of the room, smiling in satisfaction. She took a sip of her mojito. She flipped open her phone and pressed 1 for speed dial.

_Sheremetyevo _International Airport- Moscow, Russia

Yassen felt his cell phone buzzing in his coat pocket. "Gregorovich."

"_Ah Yassen,_"

"Mrs. Rothman."

"_It's good to hear from you, Yassen. Your assignment was a success, I trust?_"

He hesitated. "Yes. Everything went as planned." He answered at last.

"_Good. Good._ _Tell me, Yassen, how come you left Cuba so quickly? I haven't assigned you any work yet._"

"I had some personal business to attend to."

"_I see. I have a new assignment for you. I want you to fly back to Skeleton Key directly so that I may discuss the requirements with you._"

Yassen stopped short. "You are in Skeleton Key?"

"_Naturally. That is where you new assignment is to be as well._"

"Where are you?"

"_Your suite. Where else?_"

"…"

"_You're be awfully suspicious, Yassen. Why is that?_"

"No reason, ma'am. I will be there."

"_Excellent_." The call was promptly disconnected. Yassen tugged at his collar nervously. He then dialed Nadia's number. He waited a moment until the answering machine kicked in.

"Nadia," he said in a low voice. "Get out of there. Now."

But it was too late. Julia Rothman had already met Nadia Volkova. Nadia Yassenova, that is. And she had been given orders by someone other than Alek Volkov.

Alexei Sarov's Private Island

General Sarov sat back in his desk chair, sipping a flask of vodka. The antique telephone on his desk released a metallic ring.

"Yes?"

"_One down, one to go._"


	13. Another one Down

**Here it is guys, the 13****th**** edition! Disclaimer: Do not own any characters from the Alex Rider Series or any airports and such. Please, please, please, please, please REVIEW! I LIVE FOR YOUR REVIEWS! PLEASE BE KIND, HAVE A HEART, WRITE A REVIEW! ALL IT TAKES IS FIFTEEN SECONDS OF YOUR LIFE. JUST TYPE OF FEW WORDS AND CLICK THE MOUSE! I'M NOT PICKY WHEN IT COMES TO REVIEWS JUST REVIEW! Ok, I'm done.**

**Yours truly (and quite desperately),**

**Jasper Blood**

**Side Note: Ok, I know the name of Anastasia's fashion line is corny. Don't judge me. I had to think of something dramatic. And the French dialogues are provided by **_**.com**_**. I do not own said website. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here typing with a miserable case of writer's block. I'd probably be on a private jet or something to Paris fully equipped with all of my dream toys. Ooooh, that's a nice fantasy. Ah well, gotta pull myself back to reality here. Anyway, enjoy!**

Skeleton Key, Cuba- Present Day

Today, Julia Rothman wore an off-the-shoulder gown of royal blue taffeta, her black hair pinned up with a diamond-encrusted tortoise shell clip. She wore no other jewelry, as Mrs. Rothman wasn't the gaudy type. The same round, black lenses concealed her dazzling irises. She held a long-stemmed wine glass between two fingers, her crimson lips sipping daintily. Her cell phone buzzed in her purse.

"Rothman."

"_He has arrived, ma'am_."

She snapped the phone shut, smiling to herself. Her newest employer was a man wealthy beyond his means- and would make her wealthy beyond hers. She waited a moment, then pulled out her phone again, hitting a single number set for speed dial.

"_Mrs. Rothman?_"

"Find out what Anastasia Aleksandrovna's up to, will you Nile? Fly her in. I need some fashion advice." She then promptly disconnected the call. She took another sip of wine, smiling. It was a going to be a good day.

A few things to know about Mrs. Rothman: She was arrogant. She was smart. The two qualities don't mix well. Arrogance and intelligence often cause a particularly pompous individual like Mrs. Rothman to overlook the obvious. A killer is always on the lookout for even the slightest suspicious detail. Much like the small microchip that had been planted on the back of her phone, painted navy to match the plastic. This microchip had a purpose. Its job was to record every single word that was said during the phone conversation.

The chip was controlled by a remote, this one being a laptop that belonged to Yassen Gregorovich. He had had the device specially modified to be fingerprint-sensitive. That way, if anyone other than himself touched it, it would send off an alarm signal to the computer. When that happened, all he had to do was click a button and the entire recording would be deleted and completely untraceable. He wouldn't have to worry about losing the contents of the conversation. It would have already been sent to the laptop and saved into a special file that demanded at least seven pass codes to access the contents. He had planned out everything. Something was wrong here and he had to make sure that no one knew he was snooping around.

That would look very bad on his record. He didn't have to be worried about getting caught though. No one ever caught him. After all, he was the world's best assassin. And assassins never left calling cards.

A small, deserted island, several miles off of Skeleton Key

Yassen typed in the last pass code, revealing to him fifteen minutes worth of the phone conversation Mrs. Rothman had had only moments ago. Immediately, he played back the conversation, taking notes. He smiled grimly. Apparently, Julia Rothman had chosen to work against him. But why would they want Ana? What value was she to them? And who were they working for? And who was _he_?

He listened to the conversation a few more times, then deleted immediately. He couldn't take any risks. But now what to do? He pulled out his phone.

"_Bonjour, Vintage: `ou les mots ne suffisent pas. C'est Antoinette, comment puis-je vous aider?_"

Translation: This is Antoinette, how may I help you?

Yassen smiled. _Vintage: When words are not enough_. The name that Anastasia had chosen for clothing line.

"_Oui, je tiens `a prendre la parole `a Mademoiselle Aleksandrovna._"

Translation: Yes, I would like to speak to Miss Aleksandrovna.

"_Je suis de`sol`e, Monsieur. J'aurai besoin de pr`eciser que vous avez un rendez-vous avec Mademoiselle Aleksandrovna._"

Translation: I am sorry, sir. I will need to clarify that you have an appointment with Miss Aleksandrovna.

Yassen thought frantically for name.

"_Ah…Robert Antoine_." The photographer's name popped up. He waited for the secretary's response, hoping to high heaven that he had an appointment.

"_Ah, mai oui, Monsieur. Jai vais vous connecter._"

He waited a moment, practically holding his breath. Nervousness was something he always did his best to avoid- one can concentrate better with a clear mind- but a growing sense of fear and unease washed over him in reoccurring waves. Finally, the sound of her voice filtered through the receiver.

"_Bonjour, Monsieur Antoine! J'adore…"_

"Ana, it's me."

She sighed exasperatedly. "_Yassen, I have told all my personal secretaries to allow a call from you to come through. It would be a lot less embarrassing for me if you stopped playing pretend!" _She said, though her voice was lighthearted and cheerful, a sound he hadn't heard in a very long time. It nearly broke his heart to think that in a moment, he would have to ruin it all.

"Ana, I have something to tell you."

"_…what is it, Yassen? Something's wrong, tell me._"

He was silent for a moment. "Ana, you have to get out of there."

"_…what?_"

"Now Ana. Get a flight to Havana. I'll pick you up. Use the company name, don't give your own. Do not speak to anyone unless it is mandatory. Don't attract any attention. Make sure you come alone…"

"_Yassen,_"

"Do it Ana. Don't question me, just do it. Trust me."

The words echoed in her mind. Trust me. So many times he had told her that, and every time she believed him, something horrible happened. But she knew in her heart that this time, she had to trust him. The tone of his voice- so sincere and stern- he wouldn't make this up. Yassen wasn't capable of joking. It just wasn't part of his personality. This time, she knew she had to believe him.

"_I…I trust you, Yassen. I will do as you say._"

"Good. I will pick you up in Havana. Follow my instructions and you should be fine. And Ana,"

"_Yes?"_

"You can't go against those instructions. You have to play by my rules this time. I know you and I know that you will break them. But this time you can't. If you do, you will lose more than the game. You will lose your life." He said grimly. He was about to disconnect the call when he heard her voice.

"_Yassen_,"

"Yeah, Ana?"

"_I…I love you, Yassen_."

"…" For a moment, he couldn't reply. He had waited so many years to hear those words again, and now that he had heard them, he didn't know how to reply. He had left Paris that night in 1996 with his heart torn out. He had wanted to marry Anastasia; he had even bought the ring. But when she found out what he was, it was too much for her to bear. When she had found out that he had killed her mother, it had permanently created a rift between them. After so many long, miserable years, he had given up all hope of their love ever being rekindled. Was he being given a second chance, finally?

"I love you too, Ana." He said very quietly. And he disconnected the call. And then, a thought came to him, one that he had overlooked. And he knew suddenly that it would cost him dearly. Nadia. He had forgotten about Nadia.

Skeleton Key, Cuba

Although he normally preferred to stay in the shadows, completely unnoticed, this time, Yassen had abandoned all of his typical tactics. He shot across the island, stopping only once to check if anyone was watching. Julia Rothman had said she was on Skeleton Key. He dared not think of what would happen if she caught him. Once in the hotel, he slowed to as calm a pace as he could manage, trying to look relaxed and collected. Though he doubted he was accomplishing much. Most of his body was trembling with a feeling he had never felt before, one he could not indentify.

He had known Nadia for approximately a week now and she had never left his mind until he went to Paris. Perhaps seeing Ana again had clouded his judgement. He swore at himself silently. 'Be always on your guard', that was he had been taught on Malagosto. He couldn't let a former lover distract him so easily. He slipped the keycard into the slot. He pulled open the door and rushed into the room, his eyes darting about wildly, scanning every detail. His suite was empty…but Nadia's….

Empty. Completely, utterly barren. He fell into one of the chairs, a horrid feeling tying his stomach in knots. She was gone. Missing, kidnapped, it didn't matter. She was gone. And he had done nothing to prevent it. She was his daughter, his responsibility.

And he completely neglected her. She was only thirteen years old for God's sake. He swore angrily and threw his head in his hands. He had failed. Granted, she could have been at the beach, but knew this wasn't so, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself. She hadn't returned his call and he had left the message 24 hours earlier. She would have called by now. And then he noticed something. Her phone rested on the nightstand, along with something else.

Wearily, he walked over to the table. He pressed the touch screen of her phone. The voicemail icon still remained. He then picked up the note that lay beside it.

_ Alek Volkov,_

_ I assure you, your granddaughter is in good hands…for now. My employer is demanding a ransom of 22 million American dollars for her return in one piece. You have 24 hours exactly. No more, no less. If you do not supply the money by Saturday, tomorrow morning, your granddaughter shall perish. A terrible death, we promise._

The note was written in the neat calligraphy that Julia Rothman always used. She had written the note. The words were like a dagger in his heart. So he was right, it was hopeless. How could he get his hands on 22 million dollars before tomorrow morning? It was virtually impossible. But wait. He glanced at the note.

It was addressed to Volkov, the now dead Volkov. So Mrs. Rothman didn't know she was his daughter. No doubt, she would be furious. Either that or she wouldn't much care, so long as the check was in her hands. He smiled grimly. Perhaps the cards were still in his hand. Perhaps he had a chance.

Jose Marti International Airport- Havanna, Cuba- Several Hours Later

Miss Aleksandrovna waited patiently in the terminal, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Yassen. But he was nowhere to be found. She'd been waiting for an hour now. Where was he? He had said he would meet her there. She waited a few moments more, growing increasingly nervous. She looked up after a little while to find a large, black man standing before her. He was muscular looking with broad shoulders and large hands. But the most ironic thing was the hideous white blotches that bleached his cheeks and neck.

"Miss Aleksandrovna, I presume?"

"I have been sent to pick you up from your flight."

She hesitated. Yassen said that he would pick her up. But maybe he was busy, maybe something had come up. He would have called.

"Uh, no thank you, sir. A friend of mine has already offer…"

"I am that friend." He cut in with a smile and grabbed her by the shoulders. She was forced onto her feet, something hard digging into the small of her back. The barrel of a gun, she thought, fear surging through her veins. She got up and walked ahead, as the man had ordered, her eyes darting nervously about. Yassen would pop up any minute to save her. Of course he would.

But he wouldn't. Yassen was so preoccupied with the disappearance of Nadia, that Anastasia had completely slipped his mind. The killer who was always on his guard seemed to be losing his touch. The minute they stepped outside, she immediately sprayed with sleeping gas, knocking her unconscious. She was then loaded into the back of a dusty van and driven away. The man who had kidnapped her was Nile. He had been sent by Julia Rothman. He got in the front seat, pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and waited.

"_Yes?_"

"Two down ma'am. We're on our way to a nice million dollar check."

Julia Rothman laughed wickedly. "_A 22 million dollar check, my dear Nile. Ah death is so sweet_."


	14. Merry Christmas

**Ok guys, chapter 14. Hope you like it and PLEASE REVIEW! Like I have mentioned in every single chapter so far, I live for your reviews. They are my savior! Oh, sorry about the late update…I just got an account for fictionpress so I've been caught up with that. If you'd like to read any stories from fictionpress, my username's the same on there! I should be getting a story up soon!**

**Yours Truly,**

**Jasper Blood (soulless fiend who is obsessed with a Russian assassin. By the way, has anyone seen stormbreaker- film? I've watched a few clips on YouTube and I wasn't particularly impressed but Damian Lewis was awesome. If you've seen it, tell me what you thought of it! Thanks!)**

**Last and Final Side Note: Sarov's speech to Yassen is HEAVILY influenced by the book Skeleton Key. Do not own anything from the book! Any information involving flesh eating bacteria and Russian religion provided by Wikipedia. And I finally figured out how to use the break thing! …. I think.**

**

* * *

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Locked somewhere

Her eyes fluttered open, everything around her a blur of metallic colors. She tried to lift her head but was stopped by a sudden throbbing pain. She lay back slowly, only to feel more pain as she hit something hard and cold. She looked around slowly, assessing her surroundings. She was in a bright, metal room, a hard, white light radiating from floodlights built into the ceiling. She closed her eyes, the intense glow bringing waves of dull pain through her body.

"So you are here too?" a weak voice called out. She looked to the side, barely strong enough to move her neck. She rubbed her eyes.

"Nadia?"

"Yes, Mamma." The voice was choked, but not with tears. Anger. Fury. A deep, powerful hatred seemed to have taken over the girl's typically soft, mischievous tone, transforming into something dark and emotionless. But Anastasia ignored this. She pulled herself over to the girl, her hands groping along the wall to find her. At last, she crumpled around the girl's body, attempting to hug her. But her affection was not welcomed. Nadia pulled back immediately, her voice a raspy hiss.

"Get. Off. Of. Me." She spoke in French, as her mother was accustomed to the language of Paris, but her Russian accent was strong and ruthless. Anastasia was taken aback, cringing as her daughter pushed away.

"Nadia, please…"

"Do not speak to me!" she snapped.

"Nadia, what has come over you? Why are you being like this?" she moaned, large tears beginning to tumble down her cheeks. The girl's laugh was horrid; an evil cackle, emanating hate and madness.

"Why do you think I am being like this?" she spat. "I have been beaten, pushed, and thrown around like a ragdoll. Why is that?" Anastasia again attempted to get closer to her daughter.

"I…I do not know." She whispered, though in her heart she did. She vaguely remembered the face of the man who had captured her. She knew who he was and who he worked for. And she dreaded the thought of her daughter finding out. Nadia was a smart girl. She was bound to be suspicious. She just hoped and prayed that she hadn't found out about Yassen. If she knew of his past, of his career, of everything, Nadia would never speak to her again. No child would, in that state. But Nadia was the only thing she had. She couldn't give her up, she couldn't lose her. If that happened, all her efforts would be for naught. She looked at her for a moment, taking in all the intricate details of her face.

She looked just like Yassen. From her chestnut brown hair, to her ice blue eyes, to her crooked grin, she was him in everything she did. Perhaps that was why she valued her so much, because she was a reminder of the life she once had. Or was it something else? Did the fact that she was so much like her father haunt her and make her want desperately to keep her away? Slowly, she diverted her gaze, staring at the cold metal floor, a deep sense of despair churning in her stomach.

General Alexei Sarov's Private Island

Julia Rothman lounged in an antique, Victorian-era chaise, sipping a glass of champagne.

"Ah Yassen, how nice of you to join us." Her words, though elegant as always, were somewhat slurred, perhaps the effect of a few too many glasses. He eyed her from the corner, his expression giving nothing away. He looked as though no happiness, no sadness, no anger could pass through the high cheekbones and the grimly set lips. But within, there was a maddening urge to draw his pistol and take aim, to send a bullet through that makeup-plastered face. To watch the crimson blood pour. To watch her fall back, her eyes blank and lifeless, her manicured nails still clutching that damned wine glass.

And he would not have cared. He never cared. People died every day. Another person added to that list would make no difference. Though he was typically paid for the elimination of those people. For this, he would receive nothing. The only thing would perhaps be elimination from the organization, Scorpia. They would send someone after him, to kill him.

But that would be easy to avoid. He could kill the man. Then, he could be in charge of himself, with no Julia Rothman to run his life. No one ran his life. No one ever would. As he thought about it, the idea seemed quite perfect. But he wouldn't try it today, not if he wanted to remain unnoticed. He nodded to his superior.

Mrs. Rothman stood up languidly, the blue taffeta of her gown shimmering in the waning afternoon sun. She walked slowly toward him, the scarlet lipstick emphasized by her unnaturally pale skin. She now stood only inches away from him. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. He did not pull back, though the feeling of her flesh on his was torturous.

"You were successful with your last assignment, I trust?"

He nodded, his eyes blank and glassy. She moved a step closer, than swept away, as if teasing him with her alluring air. But he was not moved. Julia Rothman loved nothing more than to flaunt her seductive body in everything she did. Perhaps she did so to test her assassins, to test their judgment and their will. If that was the purpose, Yassen had long ago passed. She turned her back on him for a moment, staring out the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Truthfully, she was disappointed in his reaction. Her best killer was always alert and focused…but never on her. She gave a mental sigh. She had tried at several romances with some of her killers and all of them had failed miserably. But naturally, a woman as self-centered as Julia Rothman would not allow that. So, she had had them all killed.

But Yassen was the last on her list of people to kill. After all, he was by far the finest of her workers and getting rid of him for vengeance would be a blatant mistake- one that would jeopardize this operation. She turned around, facing him now.

"You are to be working for General Alexei Sarov, a communist veteran bent on bringing back Russia's former government. Unfortunately, the task of persuading an entire country has obviously brought about some difficulties, thus delaying his plans."

"And that is why he needs me, I assume?"

Julia smiled, flashing her impeccable grin. "Your assumption is correct."

"What am I to be doing?"

"Your job is quite simple really, perhaps boring from your perspective, but the pay will be exorbitant."

"How much?" That was the first question he asked.

"100 million Rubles." A voice answered from the corner. Yassen glanced to his far right, to where a middle-aged man loomed in the shadows.

"Yassen, your employer. General Alexei Sarov, from Russia."

_Sarov_. The word rang in his mind. Sarov. Volkov. '_Mrs. Rothman will reveal that to you', _that was what Alek had said.

"You were working with Aleksandr Volkov." He indicated flatly. The man nodded.

"I was."

"He said that he had hired someone to kill you."

The man chuckled. "Did you really believe that?"

"I do not believe anyone but myself, General."

"A good habit to get into it. Mrs. Rothman tells me that you are the finest assassin in the organization."

From the far corner, Nile scowled. Yassen couldn't help but smile a bit, though he kept his head bent. Arrogance was a sign of weakness.

"I suppose." He answered. Sarov stepped forward into the light, his aging features bolded by the warm glow of the Cuban sunset.

"I assume you knew Alek."

"I did."

"How so?"

"Past assignments." He shifted uncomfortably. No one typically questioned his own background. It was usually a very quick business transaction. Who am I killing and how much will you pay? No one ever asked him about himself. But he answered firmly, his voice not wavering. This man was clearly looking to catch him off guard. He would not let him be satisfied.

"Ah." Sarov nodded, but Yassen could see that the general had his suspicions. Probably more than suspicions. The man sat down at the large oak desk, sorting through several neat stacks of paper.

"You will most likely need some clarification on what it is you are to be doing while in my employment, if Mrs. Rothman has not already done so." He glanced at Julia, who for once was not so pompous. She seemed almost nervous in the man's presence. She nodded to him once. He returned the gesture and turned back to face him.

"As Mrs. Rothman briefed you, my goal in this operation is to bring back the former government of Russia back to power." He stood up and walked toward the windows, looking out at the vast courtyard. "Ever since the Soviet Union fell, Russia has been in a shambles. The government has fallen apart. No one knows what to do with the country. Because of Russia's great size, they have no idea how to properly unite the people. It has been years now and they still have yet to harness their power. I want to solve this problem. When our government was communistic, we had power, greatness." He waved his hand, symbolizing the large amounts he was speaking of.

"The Soviet Union was a name feared by all. We had the whole of Eastern Europe in our grasp! The world was ours for the taking! But the people were fools. They wanted their Levi's jeans and their McDonalds. They glorified the western world and wanted to grind our traditions into the dust. And see where it has gotten us!"

Yassen listened to all this from the corner, analyzing every detail of the man's speech. He too believed that Russia could use a helping hand, but due to the fall of communism, organized crime and the like had risen to the highest level. In their clutches was a power that no civilian knew of. Russia was there's for the taking, as were the rest of the former Soviet countries. As corrupt as the old government was, it would bring down the reign of criminals quicker than it had risen. No doubt, a new and improved KGB would be created. Hell, they'd probably be hiring the mafia to do their bidding. But this couldn't happen.

He loved his country but he most certainly wouldn't die for it. And he most certainly wouldn't watch his brethren be picked off one by one because of it. But then again, the man _was_ offering one hundred million Rubles. And all of it would be his.

"You understand what I am trying to achieve now?" Sarov inquired.

"I do. But may I ask how you plan to accomplish this?"

Sarov smiled. "I will show you."

Yassen, Mrs. Rothman, and Nile were led down a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. They were led by General Sarov, several of his guards taking up the rear. As they made their descent, Yassen could not help but think about Anastasia and Nadia, for he knew that Sarov wouldn't have captured them for nothing. And he had a sick feeling that they had something to do with his plan. Sarov led them into an immaculately clean laboratory of clear glass. In fact that was all it was. A glass box sitting in the middle of an underground warehouse. From the looks of it, it was the size of Sarov's estate and its grounds put together.

Sarov turned to them now. "In answer to your question, Mr. Gregorovich, this is how I plan to accomplish my goal." He waved his hand, gesturing the lab and its equipment.

"What relevance does it have to your plan?"

"Simple. As Mrs. Rothman stated earlier, taking over Russia will be no easy task and certainly cannot be done without a pawn."

Yassen wanted to inquire as to what his pawn was, but kept his mouth shut, he nerves growing tenser by the moment.

"My plan is to inject this," he held up a glass flask, "into several pure-blooded Russians, using them as pawns to gain control of the Russian government. With these victims, I shall threaten to do the same to every Russian in Moscow." Sarov held up a hand to halt any questions. "The next question shall be, how do you plan to infect every single person, as their millions of people? The answer is simple. This flask contains severely dangerous bacteria; _necrotizing fasciitis_ or more commonly known as, flesh eating bacteria. Infecting every person naturally brings about complications though, and I have finally resolved the complications. The solution is vodka."

"Vodka?" The question was asked simultaneously, by all three assassins in the room.

Sarov smiled. "Yes, vodka." He lifted another flask from the demo table. It contained a clear liquid. "This flask contains the popular Russian alcohol that we know as vodka. And everyone knows that on holidays such as Christmas, Russians drink vodka. It does not matter if not everyone drinks it, as the number of people who do will be so great, that it will cause just enough damage to persuade the people to hand over Moscow to me."

"But it is January. Christmas is past." Nile spoke up. Sarov smiled.

"Not for the Russian Orthodox which is the most dominant religion is Russia. The Orthodox goes by the old Julian calendar, thus celebrating thirteen days after the Catholics. Today is the fifth. I have two days. Now the next question will be, how on earth do I plan to put this," he lifted the bacteria-filled flask, "in this." He held up the flask of vodka. "The answer to that is also simple. In my spare time, I purchased a vodka making company, now one of the most popular brands in Moscow. I have arranged for all the bottles being shipped out to be mixed with this bacterium and then sent out to the millions of liquor stores in Russia. Then, all I have to do is wait."

At this, Yassen could hardly contain himself. This was madness! It would never work. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it could work. It was so ridiculous, it was brilliant. No one would ever suspect it to be the vodka. And the government would be able to do nothing. Regardless of whether they surrendered Moscow to Sarov, millions of people would still suffer long and agonizing deaths.

He swore silently at himself. To think that only an hour before, he had believed that thousands of people died each day and that a few more wouldn't make a difference. But that was when he came to the sick realization. Nadia and Anastasia had been kidnapped. By Scorpia. Scorpia was here. Sarov had said he would be testing several pure-blooded Russians and Ana and Nadia were as pure-blooded as could be. If they were here, that meant that….

Yassen stared out blankly, his stomach in knots. He had endured all sorts of horrors; he had worked for hundreds of madmen. And he had never cared. It didn't matter to him how many people died. The only thing that ever mattered to him was the money entailed. Sarov was prepared to pay him one hundred million rubles. That was more money than Yassen had ever dreamt of in his life. It would open up hundreds of doors for him.

The possibilities of what he could do with such wealth were endless. He could retire to a mansion in Moscow, dabble in organized crime every once in a while, maybe run a mafia gang. He could ask for Ana's hand and they could finally be married. He could raise Nadia to be the finest assassin after him. But none of it would matter if Sarov's plan succeeded. If it did, he wouldn't have to worry about retiring to Moscow. In effect, Moscow wouldn't be there anymore.

"Mr. Gregorovich, you are most likely wondering what your part in this is."

Too shocked to speak, he simply nodded.

"I mentioned that I would be testing this bacterium on several pure-blooded Russians."

Another nod.

"You are to be one of them."

* * *

Julia Rothman entered the cell, her head held high. Nile followed behind her. She pointed the girl who lay limp and motionless on the floor.

"Give me her."

Anastasia's head shot up immediately.

"You will not take her!" she cried, tears forming in her eyes. "You will not hurt her!"

Mrs. Rothman smiled.

"Don't worry, Ms. Aleksandrovna. You'll soon join her." And the door slammed shut, leaving the woman to weep in cold, lonely silence.

**If you like this chapter, please review! If you do not, I will not update! Ok, maybe I will but reviews would really, really help! Thanks!**


	15. Romantic Irony

**Alright fine…I give in. Grudgingly. The 15****th**** chapter. Hmph…really guys, I'm torn. Only one review on that last chapter. Was it that bad? I worked hard on it; I even worked through my writer's block, just to get that one chapter down. And this how I'm repaid. Well, I'm not that upset, but please review a little more this time! Reviews are what keep me going! **

**And yes, I have taken to beginning my chapters with Mrs. Rothman, mostly because I hate her guts and she irritates the freaking heck out of me but I love to describe her. Yeah, I know. Confusing. Oh and in this chapter, Smartical Sarov gives Julia a run for her money. And will her hidden feelings for the Russian Assassin finally be revealed- and crushed as they had with John Rider? *SUSPENSE!***

**Side Note: Attention all fans of this fic! I have a new Yassen fic up called Redemption! Please read and review that too! Oh wait… Ok question: Has Anyone seen the film Eastern Promises? Not Alex Rider, but I wanna see it anyway! Anybody knows, tell me!**

**~J. B**

Julia Rothman now sat in General Sarov's study, the viscous sight of the underground laboratory still giving her chills. She held a martini, her long, black nails clinking against the glass. Her hands were trembling. With fear. Now, Mrs. Rothman wasn't a woman who typically felt fear. She felt madness. Anger, insanity, hatred, horror. Anything associated with those words. She loved malice and evil and…money. Oh yes, sweet, luxurious riches. But for once, money didn't concern her. The loss of her finest killer did. Sarov had, out of the blue, said that he planned to kill Yassen. Naturally, she remained placid, but her mind had begun to race.

Very few operations that Mrs. Rothman had headed involved using her killers as bait. After all, they were the ones getting paid to actually _do _the job. And Yassen was a rare find. He killed without remorse, without emotion. Killing was something that he did not enjoy, he did not savor. He just did it. No fuss and feathers involved. Perhaps that was what attracted her. Perhaps that was what was contributing to her growing sense of despair.

"You look drained, Julia." Sarov had entered the study. Julia instantly straightened.

"The art of killing is an exhilarating process, Alexei." She forced her lips into a smile. "Alas, I'm growing older and my work has begun to take its toll."

At this, Sarov chuckled. "My dear, it would be an insult to say that such a…fine woman as yourself was growing old." He sat down at his desk slowly. "Now to say that I am growing old, that would be more realistic."

Julia chuckled weakly. "Incorrigible, as always."

"You seemed shaken when I mentioned the name of your killer."

Oh Lord, now what. So her placid expression hadn't been as placid as she thought.

"Well I…you didn't tell me that you would be using one of my killers as a pawn, General."

Sarov smiled. "Ah yes, my apologies. You'll have to excuse the habit, Mrs. Rothman, but I have grown rather fond of manipulation over the years."

"How so? Manipulation, I mean, how did you use it?" she was confused. He smiled.

"Mr. Gregorovich is not going to die, Mrs. Rothman."

She nearly dropped her glass. "Excuse me?" Her voice barely above a whisper. Sarov poured himself a glass of vodka, and continued on casually.

"You see, the bacterium that I will be injecting into my 'three pure-blooded Russians', is indeed real. But they will not die unless I wish them to." He held up an emerald green flask, the color of the liquid within unknown. "To every bacteria and disease, there is an antidote that will halt the effects. The next step to my plan."

Julia stared at him, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of shock and relief. She didn't know which was the more dominant. The general got up and walked to the window, the sky now dark, the stars shining bright in a cloudless sky.

"As soon as Russia hands over the government to me, I can spare or kill Russian people as I please. I shall have an iron grip on what was once one of the most powerful countries in the world." He spoke in a singsong tone, his expression slightly less than sane. Julia took a sip of her cocktail, the tall-stemmed glass shaking in her trembling grip.

"But what good is that?" she found herself snapping, her voice cracking like a little girl on the verge of tears. "What good is that, that you threaten to kill my assassin? Why not kill them all?"

Sarov chuckled quietly.

"I can't well rule an empire if everyone is dead, Mrs. Rothman. Besides, I have friends from the Soviet era who still believe in our marvelous country. I do not wish for everyone to perish. Only those who deserve it. And as I stated before, I have no intention of killing your assassin. You needn't worry."

Her hands were trembling. He smiled. "But apparently you are." He said quietly. She looked up at him. She straightened.

"What are you getting at?"

"You are attracted to him, yes?"

Julia scowled. "You told me that this was a business transaction, General. I'd prefer if you kept it _strictly_ business."

He chuckled. "I apologize for upsetting you Mrs. Rothman. You just seemed so preoccupied, and a preoccupied assassin can never get things done correctly if there is something else on their mind. Even on as skilled as yourself."

She remained silent.

"Your employee, Mr. Gregorovich; he seemed rather preoccupied himself."

"Yassen is never preoccupied." She stated flatly. "He always does what he is told, and he does it well. And besides, there is nothing to preoccupy him. He is dedicated to his work."

Sarov took of sip of his vodka. "You sound so sure of this."

"Of course, why wouldn't I? I've known Yassen since he was but a boy. I know him like the back of my hand."

He chuckled. "No one knows what lurks in 's mind, Mrs. Rothman."

Her eyes shot up. "What?" she snapped.

"You know what I said."

"I do." She stood up. "I told you to keep out of my personal affairs, General. This is a business transaction. And you're habit of 'manipulation' shall not affect me." She spoke with a plain fury, doing nothing to hide it. Her eyes seemed to glow intensely, her red lips pursed in an unforgiving scowl.

Sarov took a sip of his vodka. "Understood. But have you no curiosity?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Curiosity? About what?"

"Mr. Gregorovich."

"I have no 'curiosity' for my killers."

"You are sure?"

"Quite." She snapped, hoping that the chill of her tone would stop him. But somewhere deep within her, she sensed that General Sarov could read most anyone like a book, and if he couldn't….Well, he most certainly wouldn't stop trying. For a few moments, they stood still, his eyes staring blankly at some unknown focal point, hers focusing on the intense blue eyes, rimmed with wrinkled eyelids that had seen years of pain and suffering- without remorse. No, she could see. He had relished the pain, welcomed the suffering like an old friend.

"You love him, don't you?"

For once, she didn't know what to say. She was astounded. No one had ever dared question her; no one had ever dared to accuse her. Why, she was co-founder of one of the most powerful assassination intelligence groups in the entire world! The only one who had the authority to question anybody was her! And yet, the anger that she had hoped would come streaming from her mouth didn't come. She could only reply with an incoherent whimper of defeat.

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an understandable answer. At last, she regained her speech.

"I made it quite clear to you, General Sarov, that my personal affairs are irrelevant to this operation, and are therefore not to be involved." She said pertly. The Russian said nothing. "Are we through?"

She didn't wait for an answer. The hollow clop of her heels echoed on the wood planks as she exited the study, her head held high, trying to look as if her dignity was still in tact. Sarov smiled. He had won.

XXX

He was thrown into the steel cell unceremoniously, the door clanging behind him, the click of numerous locks still being heard. Slowly, and with some difficulty, he lifted his head, tasting the blood from the corner of his mouth where he had hit the metal. Unfortunately, he wasn't given much time to get his bearings, as a body had been thrown on top of him in a sort of…strangulating embrace.

"Mm…nice to see you too, Anastasia," He struggled to gasp, but he wasn't allowed much else. The designer had thrown her arms around him and began smothering him with kisses. She had only seen him a few days before, but it felt like too many years. Too many years, certainly, since they had been…affectionate. At last, he managed to remove her from him, tears streaming down her pale face. He looked at her. Anastasia looked so vulnerable, so fragile, so easily broken.

"Where is Nadia?" his voice was cold, stern, emotionless. His business tone. Anastasia bit her lip.

"They have taken her."

He swore under his breath.

"Yassen,"

He looked up.

Anastasia's lip trembled. "Does she know?"

He was silent for a moment. There were a lot of things that Nadia didn't know. She might have been crafty, slightly arrogant, and very smart, but he was better. He'd kept everything inside him, pent up in a well secured prison, for nearly seventeen years. And at the moment, he longed to release it all, to pour out the feelings of hostile fury in a deluge, to focus them all on Julia Rothman, Nile, General Sarov, anybody who had wronged him. Anybody who dared harm his precious, beautiful Nadia.

Suddenly aware that he had forgotten Anastasia's inquiry, he muttered, "No."

"Well, that's better than nothing, I suppose." She murmured. She tried to give a hopeful smile, but her lips only formed an awkward frown. She felt tears brimming in her eyes, but she knew that would do nothing. Tears would only serve as a sign of weakness.

Yassen reached over and cupped her face in his hand, gingerly pressing a kiss onto her lips.

"Nothing is going to happen to her, Anastasia. Nothing." He said softly. And he meant it. Nothing would happen to his Nadia. It didn't matter that he had only known her for a few weeks, it didn't matter that before then, he hadn't known she had existed. It was something deep within that linked him to her, it was something rich and colorful and beautiful that linked a parent to his child. Something you could never experience until your eyes had seen that soft, smiling face, the eyes twinkling with that familiar happiness of one's childhood. With eyes that looked upon you with the utmost love and admiration, the eyes that never judged for what you were. The mouth that always smiled, the face that always glowed with unconditional love.

He'd never had such love before. Anastasia had loved him, and perhaps loved him still, but they were not linked in any way. They lacked the deep and strong bonds of parent and child, of husband wife, of friends. They looked upon each other with indifference, afraid to reveal secrets to one another, afraid to tell the truth, afraid to trust. Even friends didn't behave with such insecurity. When he looked back on this, years later, he realized the idea was a little far-fetched, but his mind had already wandered, therefore he didn't stop himself. Suddenly, a vivid image appeared in his mind, a beautiful, longed-for dream.

It was the dream of marrying…her…. The dream of spending the rest of his life with someone who he had confided in for so long, someone that he knew he could tell anything to and feel no shame, no remorse, no….

Julia Rothman opened the door with a soft click, her face lit up with an arrogant, demonic smile. Yassen straightened up immediately, his ice-blue eyes suddenly cold, lifeless.

"Come, Yassen. I'd like to speak with you."

**Thanks for reading! And guys, I really need your help here! As you've probably noticed, I have not updated in like freaking ever and I need ideas! I only have a beginning to the next chapter but I want to know where you want it to go! To be completely honest, I went into this story with absolutely no plot or story plan, therefore, I don't really know where to go- I've been going on a whim. So please, please, please give me your ideas! PM Me! Please!**


	16. Dripping with Poison

**OK, here is the real SUSPENSE chapter. Chapter 15 was more of a fill-in-the-blanks-put-something-in-there-cause-you-haven't-updated-in-God-only-knows-how-long chapter. This is where the real madness comes in, and yes folks, I'm sorry to say that I'm nearing the end of my ballad. But, if you want more, I am sure that I can think up more chapters. I only require a small fee of…REVIEWS. Which my fics have sadly been lacking of late and that's not exactly giving me the best moral support in the world. Ah well, such is life. Anyway, enjoy. And REVIEW, DANG IT! Cause if you don't… well, I really don't need to go on if you don't review 'cause if you don't review it means you don't want me to update. **

**You want me to update, don't you? And P.S, I know this a longer chapter but I wanted to fill in some of the blanks. Finally, I have created a somewhat planned plot. So, disregard the crap in the earlier chapters. I know I should go and edit them but I deleted them from document manager and there not on my computer so…I'm screwed. Anyway, enjoy. And review!**

**Note: Vory V Zakone (Vory)- Theives in Law AKA Russian Mafia**

**~J.B**

The corridor was dimly lit, the black and white marble tiles reflecting the soft glow. Warm, gold light poured through the narrow crack in the doorway to Sarov's study, but the hallway was still eerily dark and silent. Mrs. Rothman led him toward the guest lounge, the familiar, arrogant smile gracing her crimson lips. Dutifully, Yassen followed, though for once he was finding it hard to resist the urge to strangle her. Julia Rothman, though she was his boss, was a woman he had little respect for. She was a conniving, scheming wretch of a woman, insanity dripping from her every word. She didn't just kill for money; she killed for the enjoyment, the exhilaration.

He knew this because he had listened to her describe every detail of an operation over and over again; each time she had giggled with delight at the thought of so many people dying like a little girl in a candy shop. Thousands of corpses were like lollipops and chocolate bars for her. Sweet and decadent. Yassen wasn't like that. He killed for the money mainly, though in the beginning it had been for a sense of self-recognition, to feel empowered; the feeling of a gun his hands giving him strength. He winced at the thought of his past. He had very nearly been lured into Julia's fantasy world, the insanity taking over his mind, causing him to evolve into something perhaps inhuman.

But he had rejected her, and when she finally realized that her advances were unwelcome, she let him operate on his own, as he liked. Mrs. Rothman sat down on the turquoise chaise and beckoned him to join her. A little reluctantly, he sat down awkwardly in the chair across from her, his eyes staring hard at the wall. Julia smiled.

"You seem tense, Yassen." She said quietly, tenderly. He was silent for a moment. Where was the sneer in her voice, where was the malice? He did not answer.

Julia shifted a little in her seat, then cleared her throat.

"You needn't be, if you are, Yassen. You are not going to die as General Sarov told you."

At this, Yassen didn't know whether to be surprised or suspicious. Had Sarov caught on to his relations to the other two…pure-blooded Russians that he had taken as prisoners? Was he just playing with his mind, as he had before? He didn't answer. Answering too quickly would cause suspicion, answering at all would be a sign of weakness. He simply bent his head in a slight nod. She waited a moment for his answer, then continued.

"General Sarov has briefed me that…he rather likes manipulation, and that his plan to… 'kill you' was a…."

"Trick." His answer was so sudden and so cold…it nearly made her jump out of her skin. Nearly. Not likely though. She was hesitant.

"Ah…yes, that was…well, never mind. You, you understand." She stammered. Yassen stared at her blankly, as if the entire issue was boring him to death. Slightly annoyed by his expression, she began again, her voice clear and taught.

"General Sarov did bring something else to my attention though,"

His eyes remained blank, but he began unconsciously drumming his fingers against his thigh. To a normal person, this would mean nothing, but Julia was not a normal person. She knew Yassen's habits, his movements, what they meant. She knew all of that. Drumming his fingers nonchalantly was merely a sign of nerves.

"He stated that… that I should be curious about something, something that has to do with you. Would you care to explain to me what that something is?"

Yassen glanced at her wearily. "Ma'am," he began in heavily accented English. "What reason do you have to believe General Sarov's words? You did say that he enjoys manipulating others; was he perhaps manipulating you?"

Julia was silent for a moment, her eyes scanning his face. Yassen remained expressionless, but his heart was racing. Julia wasn't an idiot. She was rather insane, but she wasn't stupid.

"Yes, perhaps so." She said quietly, her eyes flickering up and down uncertainly. She cleared her throat again and stood up. Yassen got up. She turned to walk away, but before exiting, she whispered,

"Yassen, is there…anything…" she stopped.

"I have nothing to hide, ma'am."

She sniffed, and nodded, her back turned to him. "Thank you, Yassen." She said softly. "You are dismissed. You will begin your work tomorrow. General Sarov wishes to see you at seven. Sharp." She walked away, leaving him in the cold darkness of the lounge.

Sarov's Study- Ten minutes of Seven PM

Although he was ten minutes early, General Sarov sat at his desk with a bored look on his face as if he had been waiting for days.

"Good evening, Mr. Gregorovich."

Yassen didn't answer.

"You aren't very talkative, are you, Yassen?" he continued casually, getting up and walking to the window. "Much the opposite of your lover."

Yassen felt every muscle in his body tense, his heart thudding madly. Silently, he willed himself to remain composed. Sarov turned once again to face him.

"You cannot hide from your past forever, Mr. Gregorovich." He took sip of the vodka he had been drinking. "You cannot hide behind the creature you have invented out of yourself."

"What exactly are you trying to get at, General?" He couldn't resist it any longer. He would no longer play coy with this fool. Sarov was as slippery and cunning as a serpent. But he was a coward. Even he, a man who had clearly seen years of pain and torture, would tremble beneath the barrel of Yassen's gun.

Sarov allowed himself a quiet chuckle as he approached the assassin. He now only stood a few feet away from his fellow Russian, and he could see how Yassen' fingers tensed, poised over the 9 millimeter in his coat pocket.

"You know exactly what I am getting at, Yassen." His eyes flicked to the gun's handle. "Put that away, boy. I felt the wrath of a bullet many times; I know longer suffer its pain."

Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers away a few inches, feeling somewhat foolish. This is your employer, he thought. Be careful around him. Don't loose your temper.

"Your name is Yassen Gregorovich." Sarov indicated.

He resisted a smirk. "That much is obvious, sir."

"You are in love with Anastasia Aleksandrovna."

"Once." He replied curtly, but there was a trace of sorrow in his voice.

"Once?" Sarov studied him for a moment. "Are you sure that your feelings no longer exist?"

"What do you want, General? What are you getting at? What is the benefit of your constant…manipulation?" For once, the general didn't seem to have an automatic reply. Excellent. This time Yassen did smirk just slightly. He took a step forward.

"Yes, I was not always an assassin. Yes I was once in love with the woman you have taken prisoner. But what value is that to you? Of what value am _I_ to you, other than someone who will dispose of the people you need to get rid of?"

Sarov smiled.

"Ah, you are very valuable to me, Mr. Gregorovich." He took another sip. "Your lover and her child are the pawns. You are the weapon. I could never take Russia's government alone, not even with my military background, not even with my men. And believe me, Mr. Gregorovich, I have men everywhere. Even women; all of them loyal followers of myself and loyal supporters of communism. I shall take Russia without them even noticing, and their pompous government will sit there helplessly, weaponless. But I have no doubt they will not back down, I have no doubt that Putin will enlist his army of…mobsters.

"You are acquainted with the _Vory_. You know their ways. But I have you in my power now, and the entire organization of Scorpia. With the right amount of money, I have more than enough… 'insurance', shall we say.

Silently, Yassen calculated his plan. The man was a psychopath who played with bacteria and manipulation, that was certain. But damn, he planned everything down to the smallest detail. But, he too could come up with a mind-boggling little plan.

"Alright, then. Why did you say would kill me, and then abandon your plan?"

Sarov chuckled. "Now that part is a little more complicated." He took a sip of his vodka and sat down at the desk. Methodically, he began sorting through the file folders that lay in neat, orderly stacks. "You see, Yassen, Aleksandr Volkov and I had a…rather ugly history. We both fought for the same thing- Russia- but naturally, it can only have one supreme dictator. We were both completely different people; we both had different ideas, ideas that could never be compromised. But…Alek had something I didn't have, something I needed, something I still need."

For a moment, his voice was lost, and he stared listlessly out the windows, out at the moonlight. It seemed as if he was lamenting.

"He…he had the key. He still has it, even in death."

Yassen found himself puzzled. The key to what? A real, physical key, or was he talking in metaphors? As if sensing his question, Sarov spoke up.

"Alek has the key to every file in the entire government, to every computer hard drive, to every department, to everything." He spoke as if he were reliving a dream…a nightmare. He turned to Yassen slowly.

"And that lover of yours, she has it. She has the key." His eyes seemed to be glazed over, his voice no longer strong and confident but…afraid; revering the dead spirit of Aleksandr Volkov, the man who had the power he so desperately seeked.

Slowly, it all came to form a very detailed tale in Yassen's mind, all of the facts, from his past and the present coming together.

"And that is why you threatened to kill me?"

"Yes." He answered almost breathlessly, but quickly he regained his composure. He spoke sternly now. "The material of the cells is soundproofed. No sound can pass through their walls unless I desire so. With a flick of a switch, I can allow sound to pass through."

He looked at Yassen briefly, examining his expectant gaze before resuming his story. "Alek knew that he was going to die, though he most likely did not expect to die by your bullet. So naturally, he decided early on that he had to get rid of that key."

He took a sip of his vodka. "He gave it to his daughter. Your lover. She has the key. Your death was merely a threat to her, to see if she would give it up."

"But how could she know to give it up if she didn't know she had it?" Yassen started.

Sarov chuckled a little. "Now, Mr. Gregorovich, I did not say she did not know she had it. She probably is unaware of its importance, true, but her father undoubtedly instructed her to keep it safe, to keep it away from anyone. She will not go against her father's instructions. And that will be the death of her."

He walked past Yassen, preparing to exit the room. But Yassen was not done with him yet. He grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You will not kill her." He growled. Sarov smiled.

"But I must, Mr. Gregorovich. Sadly. She is quite beautiful."

"No. You will not."

"Then what do you propose I do?" he replied dryly.

Yassen hesitated. What would he do? "Tell me what it looks like. I'll get it for you."

Sarov raised an eyebrow.

"Will you now?"

"Yes. Just don't kill her. Or her child. Tell me what it looks like and I'll get it."

"Hmm…a reasonable request. Are you charging an additional fee for this task?"

"No." Dammit. "Tell me what it looks like." He spoke through is teeth, his blood boiling with impatience.

Sarov turned back to him.

"It is a microchip, one that holds the entire government's files. It is embedded in the silver pendant she is wearing. Bring me the pendant and I will do the rest."

Yassen nodded and released his arm.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Yassen."

Anastasia's cell- 8 PM

Ana knelt over the metal floor, her hair hanging in damp strands over her forehead. By now, they had separated her from Nadia, disabling any communication. And it was driving her mad. Beads of cold sweat trickled down her temples, her heart pounding in her chest. She was alone, afraid, and she wanted to pulverize at least six different people right now. One of them was dead, but that didn't matter. She didn't care if she had to wait until death came to beat the living daylights out of him. She shuddered.

The realization that death might come to her sooner than she'd like sent chills down her spine.

With nothing else to do, silently, she wept, knowing that no one else could see or hear her. Salty tears rolled down her cheeks, the silver locket in her fist her only source of comfort.

Anastasia's Cell- Midnight

Her body lay curled up in a tight ball on the small cot, the silver chain hanging loosely, the locket resting in her hand. Her fingers were curled upward, as if they had only now loosened from their tight fist. He approached her silently, only his soft footfalls creating sound. He reached out to her slender her hand, his fingers trembling for a moment. Slowly, delicately, he lifted the silver pendant from her hand, his skin brushing hers softly. Still, she did not move.

He turned to head for the door, but he stopped for a moment. She was even more radiant in her sleep, her eyes closed; her expression peaceful. Quickly, he knelt over her and kissed her, perhaps a last goodbye. Then he left.

XXX

The silver pendant dropped onto the desk with a soft clink. Sarov looked up from his desk, only now noticing that the assassin had entered. He smiled, satisfied.

"Excellent, Yassen. I see that killing is not your only talent."

Yassen was silent.

"Very well, the woman and her child shall be spared."

He nodded and left. Sarov waited for the door to close with a click. He flipped the pendant over in his wrinkled palm, examining its fine details until he came upon two small screws located on the back of the pendant. He took a small screwdriver from his desk drawer and slowly, delicately removed the bolts. Carefully, he lifted the back plate up, revealing his 'key'. A microchip, covered in bright green wire, was set into it, concealed along by this phony pendant. Perhaps, it wasn't even sterling silver. He chuckled.

"Alek, you fool. Creative as you were, I must say this was you're most desperate attempt at the world." He mumbled. He picked up the antique rotary phone from its holder and dialed a number.

"_General_?"

"Prepare the bacteria. The prisoners will die at dawn."

"_All of them_?"

"All of them, even the child."

"_Yes, General_."

There was a click and the call was disconnected. Sarov set the phone back down, smiling to himself. Tomorrow was going to be a good day. A very good day.

XXX

Yassen almost smiled to himself, standing only a few feet from Sarov's door. This was child's play, a simple game of eavesdropping. And that madman hadn't even noticed. Thankfully, he was too enthralled with his plan to notice the small details.

He listened closer.

"_Prepare the bacteria. The prisoners will die at dawn._"

Silence.

"_All of them, even the child._"

There was a click as the call was disconnected. Then nothing.

XXX

The metal steps clanged beneath his feet, the monotonous hum of machinery echoing through the vast warehouse. Bottles clinked on wide conveyor belts, the toxic mixture of alcohol being poured into them by fours.

Nile sat on a foldable metal chair, his legs crossed leisurely, a laptop sitting in his lap. His fingers leapt across the keys, his eyes flickering from the screen to the sight before him, observing the operation half-heartedly.

All seemed well until the Russian darted past him, a look of cold fury branded into his glassy blue eyes.

"Hey, where you goin'?"

Yassen shot him a bone-chilling glare. "None of your damn business!" he spat, and hurried on. Nile tensed with anger for moment, but realized it would be a waste of time to get into a fight with that guy. He was sourer than straight lemon juice and God knew he wasn't exactly the most personable. He looked back at his computer. When he looked up, the Russian now stood before him.

"Uh…can I help you?" Nile inquired casually.

Yassen scowled at him.

"Where are the bacteria stored?" His guttural accent slurred his words.

"What?"

The Russian rolled his eyes. "The bacteria," he snapped. "Where is it?"

Nile nodded in realization and opened his mouth to answer his fellow assassin's inquiry…but then….

"Why do you need to know?"

Yassen gritted his teeth, his blood boiling in his veins. "Urgent orders from Sarov." He hissed.

"I didn't get orders. And I'm the one on duty down here. You don't come in until tomorrow, when your fella' Ruskies are poisoned to death…." He stopped short. Damn it, he'd spoke to soon. Fortunately, Yassen didn't seem to notice. He blinked once in something that looked like confusion, then dismissed it.

"Where is it stored?" he growled. Nile opened his mouth to give a smart-mouthed reply, but thought better of it. He sighed warily. Arguing with him would only make things uglier. He flicked his finger lazily toward his left.

"Freezer, 3rd room on your left."

He looked up from his computer. The Russian was gone. He rolled his eyes.

"Who pissed on his Post Toasties?" he muttered.

XXX

He crept around the corner almost noiselessly. He scowled as he noticed the armed guards standing before the chamber that the Necrotizing Fasciitis was stored in. A thermostat on the wall read negative twenty degrees. He sighed and approached the guards casually. As he neared, they lifted their guns, their sights focused on him. He rolled his eyes.

"At ease, gentlemen."

Their guns remained raised.

"_Chto vy hotite_?" one of them barked, his gun pointing directly at his forehead. Yassen raised a hand, a sign of peace.

"I have orders from General Sarov to deliver a flask of the bacteria to him."

The guards did not respond.

"It is urgent." Still nothing. Yassen sighed. "Your jobs and possibly your lives depend on it." At this the guards straightened, their guns lowering slightly. The one who had spoken shot him a cold glare.

"You cannot go in there; it is a sterile room. No one without authorization enters."

"Alright. Get someone with authorization then."

"There is no one on duty."

The guard immediately regretted his words, as Yassen's fingers curled around his throat squeezing hard.

"I have direct orders from General Sarov to deliver him a flask of the bacteria. You will do it now or you will die. I even have permission to do that." He snapped. The guard's eyes widened with fear and began nodding furiously, like a fool.

"Yes sir, yes sir, I will get it! I will!" Yassen released him from his grasp and the guard rushed to the next chamber, babbling nervously. Yassen looked at the other guard, who had been staring lifelessly at the wall. When he met Yassen's gaze, he too rushed off, fear in his expression. Yassen smiled a little. Vengeance would be sweet.

XXX

The guard delivered the flask to him, holding it in a pair of tongs. The flask was still frozen, he said, quite cold, but after a few moments it would warm, as the air outside the freezer was quite humid. He explained that the bacteria were kept cold to prolong their life outside. It would last in all temperatures, but not for a period of months.

Yassen took the flask gingerly and proceeded back down the hall. He was reasonably certain that the guard would not make any attempts to get him caught, but even then, he could just kill him before he did. He walked slowly and carefully down the corridor, analyzing anyone who passed him, considering who he should kill.

After a few moments, he settled on the one guarding the conveyor belts, a man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was out of Nile's line of vision; therefore Yassen's counterpart could not sound the alarm if anything happened. At first, he walked past him, nodding to him in polite greeting. The guard did not move.

Then, he began the process of killing him. He had found several copies of old blueprints in one of the supply rooms. Donning latex gloves to protect his fingers, he doused the paper in the bacteria, allowing it to spread across the surface.

He walked back to him, again fibbing that he had orders from Sarov, directing him to the conveyor belts operations room. He feigned confusion, pretending that he was lost. He asked the man in Russian to give him directions. The man mumbled something quickly, refusing eye contact with him. But he had gotten his attention, at least a little. The next part was simple.

"I have these blueprints from Sarov. He asked that I give them to one of the guards to deliver to the head of the machinery for reviewing. Will you deliver them?"

The man looked at him for a moment, confused. Yassen smiled innocently.

"I'm new on the job."

The man sighed and nodded, finally looking up at him, retaining eye contact. Yassen casually handed him the blueprints, keeping his fingers slightly concealed so that the guard didn't notice his gloves. But he needn't. The man seemed to absorbed in the plans. Finally he looked up.

"Sir, these are old blueprints; we've already initiated this part of the plan…."

He was too late. Yassen was gone.

Within several hours, the man was dead. The Necrotizing Fasciitis had infected him, spreading rapidly through his body, rotting him from the inside out.

XXX

Sarov took a sip of vodka, toying with the pendant that had concealed the microchip. The metallic ring of the phone jolted him from his daze.

"_General_," a voice said urgently.

"Yes?"

"_The bacteria…it has escaped its confinements …one man down already…I fear more will come_."

"What?"

"_The bacteria are out, out in the open air!_"

Damn it.

**Well on that happy note, I'll end this chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed it! **

**Note: Russian dialogue: What do you want?**

**Disclaimer: Do not own any facts about Necrotizing Fasciititus…in face I made most of the facts up so don't sue. **

**Danke schon!**


	17. Author's Notice Please Read!

**Author's Note:**

I apologize that this story has been on hiatus for some time, but since I've rather lacked motivation and inspiration, I would like to ask you one question:

Should I, or should I not continue the Killer and his Contract?

If you would like to give me your thoughts, please PM me. I'm not going to con you into reviewing me, just send me a message with your thoughts. If I get enough 'yes's, I will continue. If I get more 'no's … I may still continue for my peace of mind. So, send me a message with your thoughts or any ideas, or what have you. Thank you so much to the readers who have read this far.

Your fellow fan of Yassen the Amazing Russian Assassin,

J.B


	18. Vengeance heals all Wounds

**Ok people, you know the drill. I know it's been literally an entire year since I've updated, but I'm feeling… Yassenish today. And I received a couple more touching reviews upon publishing my author's note; so touched that I'm digging into the confines of my brain to find out what the heck my genius plan for this chapter was when I had updated the chapter before it in… hmm let's see here… August of 2010. Needless to say, I forgot my genius plan, but I have pretty good one to fill in with so I hope y'all like it. And please, please, oh please for the love of Yassen, review. That's kind of the reason why I stopped writing in the first place….**

**Regards,**

**J.B**

**Special thanks to PuddingisEvil and AzraelLillith. I would also list Albany, but as I didn't understand your interview (I'm guessing it was in Spanish or Italian- forgive me if I'm wrong) I'm not going to assume anything specific. But I'm betting that **_**Actualice Pronto**_** means update fast so… yeah. Thanks to you all for giving me motivation again!**

**Alright, let's get this show on the road.**

Skeleton Key, Cuba

Guards and workers flooded in and out of every possible entrance to the manufacturing warehouse and Sarov's private residence, speaking rapid-fire Russian and Spanish into their intercoms. Blinding red strobe-lights flashed and alarms blared throughout every building; coupled with the barked orders and other noisy pandemonium, it created a deafening cacophony.

And among the terrified throngs of people, fighting to get away from airborne bacteria, Yassen Gregorovich strode confidently, and for once he allowed a defiantly arrogant smirk to grace his pale, rough lips.

Today would not be Alexei Sarov's day, as he had planned for it to be. Today, Yassen Gregorovich would throw his typical carefulness to the wind. Today, he would make that bastard suffer for everything, anything he'd ever done. Even if he hadn't truly done anything, the assassin intended on killing him himself. Slowly. For the first time in his thirty-some years, he would _enjoy _a death. Sarov would no longer be able to manipulate, after today.

Nile jogged up alongside him, his face a calm mask, but his eyes were wild with uncertainty.

"What the hell is going on in there?" he inquired, trying to snap the words angrily, but the force in his voice was betrayed by the obvious awed confusion.

"I could ask you the same." He replied simply and continued a quickened pace.

"Hey, wait up there! Where you goin'?"

"To Sarov. No doubt he knows about this."

Nile eyed him levelly, which was rather difficult considering the fact that the Russian's long legs moved languidly but at an impossible speed for the shorter, stalkier man.

"You think he's going to halt the operation?"

Yassen's eyes seemed to flicker with an emotion that Nile couldn't identify from where he was beside him.

"Well, that was obviously the goal of whoever released the bacteria." His expression darkened. "But I sincerely doubt it."

"But why would anybody release the stuff? Why would they wanna mess with this plan?"

The Russian stopped suddenly, looking at his counterpart closely, his expression unreadable.

"General Sarov plans to kill off thousands. Not just one person. An entire nation."

"You're point?"

"We might be killers by profession, Nile." He answered coldly. "But the people of this world, the living ones, that is, are the people who pay us. Many of them come from the very country that Sarov, for lack of a better term, intends to annihilate. Quite literally, actually. And when he has killed off nearly every single soul in Russia, when the government finally breaks under his pressure, he will have what he wants."

"An empire," Nile mumbled. "But of what significance is that to us?"

"Simple. With the largest nation in the world reduced to perhaps a mere thousand, he will inevitably go on to another country. Sarov wants the world, that much is clear from the insanity in his voice when he speaks of his loyalty for communism. If he is so bent on Russia becoming the Soviet Union once again, when he has the weapons of nuclear power that he seeks, what is to stop him from taking on the rest of this earth? He'll destroy nations on a whim, without a second thought. And with all those people dead, we won't be able to do our jobs."

He smiled grimly. "Will we?"

Nile was silent.

"So you tell me, Nile. Of what significance is this operation, to us?"

And he walked off, leaving the other man speechless. Out of the sheer, extremely delayed realization of what Sarov's plan would do to the lifespan of Scorpia… and himself, and because this was the most the Russian assassin had ever spoken.

Usually it was single-word answers. A full paragraph? Forget it.

XXX

Sarov gripped the edge of his desk as if the object was keeping him alive, his knuckles slowly turning white.

An array of guards stood, their eyes riveting into him, awaiting his final answer. Julia Rothman paced across the marble-tiled floor, her hands trembling with… fear.

"Sir, the bacteria are airborne. We have shut down the warehouse, but anyone who has been in the premises in the past hour is susceptible. We must evacuate the island."

"No!" he snapped, his voice ragged, eyes blood-shot rimmed with shadowy bags. "The operation must go on!"

Julia stared at him in astonishment. "General Sarov, this is insanity! The operation will never succeed if you simply sit here and allow your own creation to commit a mass-murder."

"No one. Leaves. The island." His voice was a low, almost feral growl. Julia eyed him levelly, prepared to negotiate to her death.

"My assassins leave the island, General. I will not endanger Scorpia's most valued assets all because of your carelessness."

"You signed a contract with me. I paid you the money due."

"And nowhere in said contract did I agree to put the lives of my employees or myself on the line. You may do what you like; take back the money if you wish. But Scorpia has lost too much in the past several years, and as head of the organization, I will not, under any circumstances, allow it to be demolished all due to an operation that is plunging to its demise, along with ever other soul on this Godforsaken island." She spat cruelly.

Sarov's lips twisted into a demonic half-grin as the woman marched away, her expensive heels clipping sharply against the stone floor. She was nearly out the door, but a quick hand signal from him and one of the guards immediately barred the door. Julia raised a fist, preparing to strike him, but the man effortlessly grabbed her wrist in a death-grip and wrenched her aside.

"You will not leave this island, Mrs. Rothman." Sarov said levelly as another guard came forth, brandishing a gleaming AK-47. "Or you will be shot."

He smiled at the trace of fear that flickered across her features. "Then, whatever plans you had for Scorpia will be no longer."

She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly a frantic guard from the warehouse burst into the office, his eyes wide with terror.

"General!"

Sarov flashed a hostile glare at the man. "Chenkov. Were you not ordered _explicitly_ to guard the bacteria?"

The man paled as if an invisible force was sucking the pigment from his face.

"I… I… a man… he said he… had specific orders from you, sir. He threatened… I… you trust him." He stammered. Almost simultaneously, both Sarov and Julia's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Who?" they said at once, their tones venomous.

"I… I… I believe he was… one of the… hired killers."

"What did he look like?" Julia snapped.

"Uh… dark hair… tan skin… he spoke Russian." He answered innocently, his face tightening as the terror further numbed his nerves.

"Yassen." The word was an inhuman hiss, spoken as if it were the filthiest profanity; Mrs. Rothman felt as if every nerve in her body had burst into writhing flames. "How… why?" she whispered. Tears brimmed in her eyes; it was as if her heart had been torn out. She'd done everything for Yassen; she'd ensured that he'd have the finest the training to further increase his obvious, natural finesse. He had a gift that few others possessed; the power to kill without feeling, as if it were mechanical, and yet to be able to make it seem as if it were a single, fluid motion.

And secretly, though she'd never wanted to admit it to herself, for fear of breaking her own heart and sanity, she had loved him.

And he had betrayed her.

XXX

"You let your assassin release the bacteria!" Sarov snapped, unable to control his fury.

"I had no part in this!" she hissed, her eyes practically bulging out of her head in wrath.

Sarov glanced at one of his men. His whole body shuddered with rage. "The operation is jeopardized now, all because of that bastard!"

"Evacuate the island!" she snapped. "Do it! Surely you have other plants, perhaps one near Moscow! All with the formula! You are a madman to stay here – you will not live long enough to see your plan go into action and neither will any of us! The government will find you out and you, the invincible General Sarov," she spat mockingly, "will be convicted for a string of murders all because of one man."

"Your man." He said flatly.

The tears were close to spilling from her mascara-caked eyes. "He is not 'my' man. As you put it. He is my employee. Or at least, he once was. He is no longer." She said dangerously slow, annunciating each syllable as if it were a dagger piercing Sarov's heart.

He pondered her words for a moment. "Do you want revenge on Yassen Gregorovich, Mrs. Rothman?" he stated simply, quietly.

She glared at him. "More than you know." She whispered.

He smiled at her. "Then before we proceed with any decision-making, I think it would be best for you to know…."

"Know what?" the words were spoken through gritted teeth.

"Do you wonder why your assassin has never returned your obvious affections?"

She stared up at him in shock. "I thought I told you specifically not to delve into my personal business, General Sarov." She said almost lifelessly. "Besides, this is hardly the time."

"Actually, this is as good a time as any. For it plays a rather valuable part in that which will most likely feed your hunger for vengeance on Gregorovich."

"Speak."

"Yassen Gregorovich is in love with Anastasia Aleksandrovna. The woman who happens to be imprisoned beneath us. Her child is his daughter."

**Oh, how I adore abrupt endings. I know this was rushed, but I'm going on vacation tomorrow and obviously will not be able to update until I get back next Tuesday. So… please, please, please, please, please, please, please review!**

**Regards,**

**J.B**


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